


Eminent Domain

by Splix_Archive (splix)



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mindfuck, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 111,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splix/pseuds/Splix_Archive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Power, corruption, and the price of virtue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to kimberlite and LaConstance for beta.

**********

 

Dusk bled its last soft purple glow into the Jedi Council Chamber, a room as hushed and serene as the Councillors who inhabited it. Rare was the voice raised in anger in this place; its stillness was a rebuke to the unceasing hum of life outside the walls of the Temple. An observer gazing out onto the vast cityscape from the tall, arched windows of the Chamber would have seen lights twinkling to brilliant life in all directions; Coruscant's sky was never truly dimmed, its furious pace never diminished.

 

The Councillors sat silently, watching with mild interest as a hologram flickered to life before them. The pale-blue image that appeared was a young woman clad in white robes, her hands clasped before her in a gesture of supplication.

 

The apparition spoke. "Honored Jedi." Her voice was low, husky, thoughtful and, to the perceptive senses of the assembled Jedi, more than slightly tinged with fear.

 

"I am Edrei Thanach of Pralderis. I come to you on behalf of my brother Varden, the Prince Regent of Pralderis, and on behalf of our people to beg your assistance. Civil war threatens to rend our planet; our citizens are in danger, innocent victims of horrific violence. Though Pralderis is not a member of the Republic, we have heard of the compassion and strength of the Jedi, and humbly beg your aid.

 

"We implore you, noble Jedi, to send a complement of your esteemed Knights so that this conflict may see its end. All relevant details are encrypted on a data cube that will be delivered to you by special courier. We beseech you, do not ignore our pleas."

 

The young woman dropped to her knees. "We throw ourselves upon your mercy, honored Jedi. You are the last hope for Pralderis."

 

The hologram image shimmered and disappeared.

 

The Council Chamber was left in silence.

 

**********

 

The girl was pretty enough, Umak Leth thought, and seemed to possess a worthy intelligence. As with all royalty, though, she was overly accustomed to having her own way. Her painted mouth was twisted and her irritation nearly palpable as she regarded her guests, who sat in silence, watching the hologram play.

 

"Well?"

 

Leth exchanged an amused glance with her companion and smiled pleasantly, fingering the delicately scented petals of a flower, bright gold and seeming to glow in the dimly lit room. "Very well done. You shall have what you desire -- I'm certain of it."

 

"How many?" the young woman demanded. "We need several dozen Jedi at least. I told you that."

 

Leth's companion raised an eyebrow in mild reproof. "I very much doubt that more than one or two Jedi will be sent, my dear. You don't quite understand their ways. Strength in numbers is not, of necessity, a tenet of their Code. Your generous offer, though, once the conflict is resolved, will entice them. The public trough is not bottomless, and the Order is always grateful for donations. Such is my understanding, at least. It is a rarity for public servants -- especially those who routinely endanger themselves for the good of others -- to be thanked, much less rewarded, for their services."

 

The young woman gazed at him in narrow suspicion. Sitting gracefully upon the sofa opposite her guests, she waved a hand, and a teacup arose from the table between them, floating toward the man.

 

Leth felt a prickle of Force in the air -- warped and blurred, but manifest nonetheless.

 

The man picked the cup out of empty air and took a sip from it. "Impressive, my dear."

 

The young woman shrugged. "That's nothing. You say we won't have to join the Republic?"

 

The man smiled. "Certainly not. But your credibility will gain you favor if you at least make motions in that direction."

 

"No one rules Pralderis but the Thanach -- and only the Thanach," the girl said, her eyes hard.

 

The man offered her a conciliatory smile. "Of course not."

 

"And you will not forget your promise?"

 

"No," the man said. "The corona of Pralderis upon your lovely brow will rival the stars in beauty, my sweet girl."

 

Leth sighed and rose to her feet. "We must return to Coruscant. Thank you for your hospitality and the gift of the flowers."

 

The girl rose as well. "As you like. I don't know why you care about them -- they don't work on anyone but the Thanach."

 

Leth smiled and turned to her companion. "My Lord," she said softly.

 

The man stood, extending a hand. Leth handed him the flower, and they gazed at it in fascination. "Such a small, delicate thing," he murmured. He touched his fingertip to the fragile, starred filaments at the center of the flower. When he took it away, his fingertip was burnished with golden pollen.

 

"You will not have the visions," the girl said.

 

Leth reached out and stroked the velvety petals. The girl was wrong. There were visions -- not for herself, of a certainty; her curiosity extended only to the healing and hallucinogenic properties of the flower, and not to the apparitions she might have beheld. Let the future stay a mystery; the delight in living was in the unknown. But for her Master -- ah, for him, there had been a multitude of visions -- visions of glory such as the galaxy had not seen in ten thousand years.

 

A ragged shred of her training recalled itself to her heart. "The future is always in motion," she whispered. Dreams and apparitions were not to be ignored, but neither were they to be relied upon. Not a platitude, as so much Jedi teaching had been, but hard and practical advice that she had always heeded.

 

Her companion smiled gently, understanding her meaning. "But there is destiny, Leth. And here is the key."

 

"As you say, my Lord."

 

"I do."

 

Leth turned to the girl. "Thank you again. You have been most generous."

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon politely took a sip of the wine he'd been offered and set the goblet upon the table. "Our transport leaves shortly," he said to his host. "I should find Obi-Wan now."

 

"Pity you can't stay," remarked his host, Medora Bruhn, discreetly stifling a belch. A man nearly as tall as Qui-Gon, but whose considerable girth made him appear shorter, Bruhn was a gracious and kind host. His table manners, however, left something to be desired. Qui-Gon glanced ruefully at his tunic. That wine stain wouldn't come out, he was sure, and it had been his last clean tunic. Still, it had been an accident.

 

Drawing his robe around himself, Qui-Gon bowed. "Obi-Wan and I are grateful for your hospitality, Medora, but we have been assigned another mission."

 

Bruhn grinned and hugged a young woman so frail and delicate in appearance it was difficult to believe that she had been born of Bruhn and his robust wife. "You rescued my Lerenna. I could shower you with kisses, Jedi -- forget about hospitality."

 

Qui-Gon was unable to supp ress a laugh. "Not necessary, Medora, but thank you all the same. Both Obi-Wan and I are glad that Lerenna is safe with you."

 

"Master, the transport is here."

 

Qui-Gon turned to acknowledge Obi-Wan. "I was just about to look for you. Very well, Padawan, let's be off. Medora --" He let out a whoosh of air as Medora Bruhn seized him and clasped him in an embrace that might have crushed his ribs had it not been for the soft expanse of Bruhn's belly. He caught his breath, hiding his smile as Bruhn seized Obi-Wan and gave him a similarly expansive hug, punctuating the embrace with a very wet kiss upon Obi-Wan's cheek.

 

Obi-Wan bowed, doing credit to his diplomatic training. "Thank you, Medora." He turned to Bruhn's daughter, and though there was no change upon Obi-Wan's smooth features, Qui-Gon had the distinct impression that Obi-Wan was relieved that the girl was almost painfully shy and certainly not as jovially demonstrative as her father. "Good-bye, Lerenna."

 

"Good journey, Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon." Lerenna's voice was soft, in tune with her tiny frame.

 

They took their leave of the noisy dining hall and, escorted by a full complement of Bruhn's family and friends, made their way to the docking bay. They boarded the transport and found their room.

 

Qui-Gon sank upon his bed, sighing. "You were exceptionally graceful back there, Padawan. I'm proud of you."

 

"I suppose I've experienced worse, Master," Obi-Wan replied, rummaging through his pack. "I feared for my ribs for a moment." He pulled his datapad from the pack and activated it, then sat on the other bed. "Master, I've never heard of Pralderis. Where is it?"

 

"I don't know," Qui-Gon said. "I've never heard of it either. Read the mission specifications to me, Padawan." He lay full-length upon the bed, putting an arm over his eyes, shielding them from the light.

 

"It's a civil dispute. There's a message from one of the ruling family." Obi-Wan played the hologram, and Qui-Gon raised himself from his prone position to watch it.

 

"Interesting," was Qui-Gon's only comment.

 

"Pralderis is not a member of the Republic, Master. Do you think the Senate will disapprove?"

 

"Not if the Council doesn't tell them," Qui-Gon smiled.

 

"The Senate is talking of eliminating funds for this type of mission," Obi-Wan reminded him.

 

"As long as there is a need, Obi-Wan, we will continue to aid the helpless -- whether or not they are part of the Republic." Qui-Gon lay down again. "Even if we have to beg for private funds."

 

"In that case, you might have taken what Medora Bruhn offered you."

 

Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan sharply, but Obi-Wan was smiling. "I couldn't carry all those credits, Padawan." He returned Obi-Wan's smile. "Don't worry about it, Obi-Wan. We'll have funds to get back to Coruscant once the mission's over. I'll communicate with Yoda later."

 

"And Tahl," Obi-Wan said quietly.

 

"Yes." Qui-Gon looked into Obi-Wan's eyes, as if searching for something, and then put his arm over his eyes again. "You might want to contact Garen."

 

"I'll do that." Obi-Wan rose to his feet and went to the door. Qui-Gon heard the soft hiss as the door opened. "Master?"

 

Qui-Gon raised himself to one elbow and gazed at Obi-Wan. "Yes, Padawan?"

 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth and then closed it. He dimmed the lights and stepped into the corridor. "Sleep well, Master," he said softly. The door closed, and Qui-Gon was left in darkness.

 

Sleep was a long time coming.

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan stood before the comm-panel, keying in the code he'd had memorized since the age of nine. A shimmering blue image formed -- a young man with sandy hair, clad in -- nothing at all, Obi-Wan realized, sidling closer to the image to spare the unsuspecting.

 

"Garen!" he whispered, flushing. "Go put some clothes on!"

 

Garen Muln spread his arms out, proudly displaying his naked body. "I saw it was you, Obi-Wan. Miss this?"

 

Obi-Wan smiled grudgingly. "Of course," he said. "And I will for a while more. Qui-Gon and I are off to Pralderis."

 

Garen folded his arms. "Pralderis? They picked you, eh?"

 

"What do you know about it?" Obi-Wan asked. Garen's master, Adi Gallia, had recently been appointed to the Council, and though Garen had boasted that he now had access to the best gossip in the Temple, Master Gallia had never revealed a single tidbit of interesting information.

 

"What do you think?" Garen replied smugly.

 

"I think you know about as much as I do -- nothing," Obi-Wan said, laughing a little.

 

"Can't fool you, can I. You're right -- I don't know a damned thing about Pralderis except that it's an Outer Rim system. Didn't you read your mission specs?"

 

"I'll read them later. I'm exhausted. I just wanted to let you know that I wouldn't be back immediately."

 

Garen shrugged. "I'm probably going to ask Master Adi if I can do another pilot rotation."

 

"Good for you."

 

"I'll see you when you return. Keep in touch if you can." Garen smiled, then dashed out of sight. He returned holding an object, distinctly phallic in shape. "I want to show you something, Obi-Wan. Total muscle control, I swear. Look." He turned and dropped to his knees, displaying a very shapely backside.

 

"Garen!" Obi-Wan yelped, then looked around furtively to see if anyone was looking. No one was. "I'm going, Garen. Take care of yourself."

 

Garen pulled a face. "Fine. Say hello to Qui-Gon."

 

"I will. And Garen --"

 

"Yes?" Garen looked over one shoulder, fluttering his eyelashes coquettishly.

 

"I taught you that trick." Grinning, Obi-Wan ended the communication and walked for a while, touring the ship, then heading back to the cabin. Slipping inside quietly so as not to disturb Qui-Gon, he removed his boots and crept toward his bed.

 

A faint glow emanated from a light set into the floor at the far end of the room, and Obi-Wan could just make out Qui-Gon's still form. Qui-Gon's chest rose and fell as he took deep, even breaths. Obi-Wan put a hand out, letting it hover just over Qui-Gon's chest. His fingertips brushed the fabric of Qui-Gon's tunic, and he snatched his hand away, feeling furtive and a trifle guilty.

 

He lay down, glancing back to see if Qui-Gon had stirred. He had not. Relieved, Obi-Wan relaxed, curling up for a restful sleep.

 

He stole a final glance at Qui-Gon, still unmoving, fine strands of his loosened hair catching the faint light.

 

"Master," he whispered.

 

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon awoke with a start, the pillow beneath him damp with sweat. Rising swiftly, he took his boots and slipped outside the cabin, taking care not to wake Obi-Wan.

 

He leaned against the door, his heart thumping with a frantic and unpleasant irregularity. After sliding his boots on, he strode through the corridors of the ship, looking neither left nor right. He walked the silent halls until his heart resumed something like its normal rhythm. Sighing, he slowed, then stopped, looking out a porthole, watching the dazzling swirl of hyperspace.

 

"May I help you find something, sir?"

 

Qui-Gon turned to see a young ship's steward smiling at him. "Where is your comm center?"

 

"There's one on this level, sir. Come with me and I'll be delighted to show it to you."

 

Hiding a smile at the steward's overenthusiastic offer, Qui-Gon fell into step beside the young man, murmuring polite responses to the steward's bright inquiries. Yes, he had traveled on this line of ships before. Yes, his accommodations were satisfactory. No, he had not been to the trade concourse -- and had no intention of doing so, he added mentally. Yes, he did have a traveling companion -- no, not a relation. Yes, he would be sure to call upon -- Keis, was it? -- if he required anything to make his journey more comfortable. Thank you so much.

 

Sighing with relief, he slipped into the comm unit and entered the coordinates to his quarters on Coruscant.

 

An image of a tall, slender woman appeared. "You woke me," she complained.

 

Qui-Gon smiled. "It's good to see you again too."

 

"Hm," Tahl snorted. "When were you planning to tell me you'd been assigned another mission? No, don't bother, I've heard. Garen Muln stopped by earlier. A good thing Obi-Wan keeps in contact with his friends." Despite her curt tone, Tahl was smiling, her faded green-gold eyes squinting in amusement.

 

Qui-Gon returned the smile, knowing Tahl would hear it in his voice. "Obi-Wan keeps me centered."

 

"Someone has to. You're off to Pralderis?"

 

"Yes," Qui-Gon said. "A civil dispute. I know very little yet; I can't say when we'll return."

 

"So long as you do," Tahl replied, a saucy smile curving her mouth. "I miss you."

 

"And I miss you. It's been a long time."

 

"It has," Tahl agreed, then frowned slightly. "What's the matter, Qui-Gon?"

 

Qui-Gon smiled ruefully, running a hand through his hair. "I had a rather unpleasant dream."

 

"The same one you've been having for nearly a year?"

 

Qui-Gon started. "What do you mean by that?"

 

Tahl's mouth turned up in a wry smile. "After five years, Qui-Gon, one gets used to the way one's lover awakens. I can feel it in the way your body jerks awake. I can only attribute it to nightmares -- you're normally such a sound sleeper."

 

Qui-Gon was slightly disconcerted. "I didn't know you were that attuned to me."

 

"Foolish man," Tahl grinned. "Tell me what you dreamt."

 

Qui-Gon hesitated. "It's nothing," he said.

 

"If it prompted you to contact me, then it must have been more than nothing," Tahl said gently. "Come along, what is it, Qui-Gon?"

 

Feeling sorry he'd mentioned it, Qui-Gon shook his head. "Nothing, love. More feelings than images, truthfully. You know what dreams are like." He put a shrug into his voice. "I'm sorry to have woken you."

 

Tahl's laugh was vibrant and robust. "Sometimes I forget what a diplomat you've become. Really, Qui-Gon, you mustn't apologize. If you won't confide in me, perhaps you should meditate upon the dream."

 

"That won't work."

 

"Oh? You've already tried?"

 

"No." Qui-Gon's response was a little brusque. Softening his tone, he added, "Forgive me. It's only a dream, Tahl, and no, I've never had it before." Tahl made no response, and Qui-Gon wondered if she could hear the falsehood in his voice. "If it happens again, I promise to meditate upon it."

 

"I know you don't believe in portents, Qui-Gon --"

 

"I dreamt that you died in my arms once," Qui-Gon smiled. "I don't give much credence to dreams as portents."

 

"As you say," Tahl shrugged. "Don't ignore it if it happens again, Qui-Gon."

 

"I won't," Qui-Gon promised. "I love you."

 

"And I love you," Tahl said, her face glowing. "I'm glad you contacted me. Sleep, love -- you're exhausted. I can hear it in your voice. And no bad dreams," she added.

 

"No," Qui-Gon said. "Sleep well." He ended the communication and sat back, pensive, his heart heavy. He wouldn't sleep again tonight. He was never able to fall back to sleep after he'd had the dream -- it always left him feeling weak and undone, and not even Tahl's long, lean, silky body could banish the lingering terror that followed.

 

The dream never began in exactly the same way. Sometimes he would find himself walking in a cool, shaded forest, sometimes in a blazing desert, sometimes in the darker sublevels of Coruscant. No matter where he found himself, though, he always came upon a stream, whether in a natural or an artificial environment -- cool, clear water flowing over rock, smoothing it out over time. There was the most profound feeling of joy, and then -- upheaval. Death, pain, blood -- sometimes his own as he felt a searing agony pierce him, sometimes the death of millions on a single planet, a sudden, white-hot blast of pain and terror.

 

Qui-Gon rose with a sigh and began the trek back to the cabin, fervently hoping not to run into any more eager-to-please stewards.

 

He'd lied to Tahl, and couldn't fathom why. He'd had the dream at intervals for nearly a year now, most often when he was in his own bed on Coruscant. She hadn't chastised him for lying, though, so it was possible she didn't know. Still, it wasn't a pleasant feeling, and he felt strangely disloyal to Tahl. Why should a dream trouble him so?

 

He reached his cabin without incident and palmed the lock. The door slid open noiselessly to reveal Obi-Wan, awake, his legs curled beneath him as he read his datapad.

 

"You should be asleep," Qui-Gon said softly, sitting beside Obi-Wan.

 

"I couldn't," Obi-Wan replied. "Are you all right, Master?"

 

Qui-Gon smiled. "I'm fine." He hesitated for a moment, feeling the strangest urge to tell Obi-Wan of his dream.

 

Obi-Wan peered at him closely, his face illuminated by the glow of the datapad. "You didn't sleep much yourself, Master."

 

"No," Qui-Gon said. "I had a dream, and it --" He took a deep breath and proceeded to tell Obi-Wan of the dreams that had plagued him for nearly a year. "A year, Obi-Wan. It's strange; it's nearly as long as --" He stopped, horrified. As long as...?

 

"As?" Obi-Wan prompted gently, his eyes riveted upon Qui-Gon's.

 

Qui-Gon shook his head and rose, moving back to his own bed and kicking his boots off. "Just a nightmare, Obi-Wan. A long time to have a recurring dream." He lay down, unsuccessfully trying to find a comfortable spot on the bed.

 

Obi-Wan arose and moved to the cabin commpanel. In moments, there was a soft chime at the door. Frowning, Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan answered the door and returned with a steaming mug in his hands. He crouched beside Qui-Gon's bed. "Drink this, Master."

 

Qui-Gon sniffed suspiciously at the foamy, sweet-smelling drink. "What is it?"

 

Obi-Wan smiled. "It's just hot, sweet thama milk, Master. You remember that mission to Rotal seven years ago? I was having nightmares about those creeping vine things --"

 

"W'rinnai, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon chided gently. They might have been carnivorous vines with murderous tendencies, but they had been sentient, and intelligent as well, when they weren't trying to wrap themselves around Obi-Wan's ankles and drag him to maws that were filled with -- even Qui-Gon had had to admit -- rows of disconcertingly sharp teeth.

 

"Of course, Master." Obi-Wan ducked his head humbly, but gave Qui-Gon a quick flash of a grin, looking anything but repentant. "I had nightmares for weeks after, but you were very kind to me. You brought me some of this and soothed my fears. You didn't chastise me for being too old to cry, or --" he shrugged, coloring.

 

Qui-Gon took the cup from Obi-Wan's hand and sipped. It was sweet, but oddly comforting. "Thank you, Obi-Wan."

 

"I'm sorry that you've been troubled, Master. If there's anything I can do to help --"

 

"You already have, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon stretched his hand out to ruffle Obi-Wan's hair. As he did so, his fingertips brushed against Obi-Wan's cheek. "You already have," he repeated, giving Obi-Wan's hair a rough caress. "Simply talking of the dream has relieved my anxiety. Thank you again, Padawan."

 

"I'm glad, Master." Obi-Wan arose and sat upon his bed, reading his datapad again. Qui-Gon watched him from beneath lowered lashes as he finished his milk.

 

"I think I'll sleep now, Padawan. No, you don't have to turn the datapad off -- I'll be fine."

 

"No, I'm tired too," Obi-Wan said, setting the datapad on the floor. "If the dream bothers you again, Master, please wake me."

 

Qui-Gon smiled gently. "Thank you, Padawan."

 

"Good night, Master."

 

"Sleep well, Obi-Wan."

 

Qui-Gon lay awake, staring sightlessly into the blackness, his heart pounding once more. Why had he not been able to confide in Tahl?

 

Stifling a groan, he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. The truth may hide, but it never disappeared entirely. Disloyal, he thought, allowing a self-awareness that he'd thought he'd safely banished to stubbornly rise to the surface. I've been disloyal to Tahl in my mind and heart for a year. A year -- nearly as long as...

 

...as long as he'd come to the realization that he was in love with his padawan.

 

**********

 

A chilly, wet, evening breeze carrying the silvered scent of rain gusted across the ramp of the transport as Obi-Wan stepped onto the docking bay. The wind, though cold, was a welcome change from the stale air of the ship, and Obi-Wan smiled, taking a deep, appreciative breath. He glanced at Qui-Gon, who also seemed happy to be breathing fresh air.

 

"It's awfully quiet, Mas --" An ear-shattering noise pierced the air, drowning out Obi-Wan's words. He winced at the skirling of pipes and horns and the fierce crash of drums. He exchanged a glance with Qui-Gon as an entire company of soldiers and musicians marched into view, stopping before the ship. Several bore large torches, and the flames danced precariously in the wind, black smoke whipping through the air.

 

Obi-Wan looked back over his shoulder, but no one else descended the ramp. "For us, Master?" he asked as discreetly as he was able.

 

Qui-Gon folded his hands in his sleeves. "It appears so, Padawan."

 

Force, what a din, Obi-Wan thought with a touch of dismay. The company was comprised of perhaps seventy or eighty individuals, the music corps perhaps half that number. At a signal from the chief officer of the company, the musicians ceased playing, and a mighty shout arose from the assemblage, shaking the hard, stony soil beneath Obi-Wan's feet.

 

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan bowed, and the company and corps shouted again in approbation, a raucous yell that made Obi-Wan wince inwardly. They could wake the dead with voices like those, he thought.

 

The chief officer came forward, his palms held up before him. "Greetings, noble Jedi," he boomed. "You honor us in granting our request."

 

"It is our honor to serve," Qui-Gon replied. "I am Qui-Gon Jinn. This is my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

 

"General Einan Thanach," the man replied. "We've come to escort you and your fellow Jedi Knights back to Thanach Hold."

 

"An impressive escort," Qui-Gon remarked mildly. "Thank you."

 

"We'll wait for your other companions before the first boat leaves," Thanach said.

 

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon exchanged a quick glance. "We have no other companions," Obi-Wan said.

 

Thanach frowned. "No other companions? I understood there was a team of Jedi Knights arriving."

 

"The team has arrived," Qui-Gon smiled, spreading his hands. "Myself, and Obi-Wan."

 

Thanach's face darkened. "Two Jedi are not a team. This one is a mere stripling," he said, indicating Obi-Wan with a contemptuous flap of his hand, all respect and good will drained from his face and voice.

 

Qui-Gon remained silent, and Obi-Wan, from the corner of his eye, saw him nod. "I am sorry that you are disappointed," Obi-Wan said, "but I assure you that we have resolved similar conflicts to the one Pralderis faces. I am confident in our ability to help you." He was not offended at Thanach's disdain; it was not the first time his youth had been perceived as a disadvantage.

 

"Saviors of the galaxy," Thanach snorted. "And the damned Senate wonders why we don't want anything to do with them. Very well, come along." He wheeled and marched away.

 

Soldiers formed a phalanx around them and the music began again, though with a marked lack of enthusiasm. Obi-Wan felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth and did his utmost to hide it. He fell into step with Qui-Gon.

 

"Control, Padawan," Qui-Gon murmured.

 

"Sorry, Master."

 

Qui-Gon coughed, and Obi-Wan, recognizing his master's prim concealment of mirth, couldn't prevent the smile from spreading across his face. It certainly hadn't been an auspicious beginning to the mission, but then again, if every mission began auspiciously....

 

They were led over rough and uneven terrain, and Obi-Wan was able to detect the tang of salt water. His suspicions were confirmed when they ascended to the peak of a hill and saw a grey sea before them, and a large cluster of boats awaiting.

 

"The only way to Thanach Hold is by sea," the general explained in a grudging tone.

 

Obi-Wan climbed into a boat beside Qui-Gon, accepting the outstretched hand Qui-Gon offered.

 

"It's wet," Qui-Gon said.

 

"Thank you, Master." Obi-Wan lowered himself to the seat, placing his pack upon his lap. Some of the company climbed into the boat and proceeded to ignore the Jedi completely. The crafts launched, the low rumble of their engines a constant hum beneath the noise of the pipes and horns and drums and the endless roar of the sea.

 

The boats skimmed past the breakers and veered off, skirting near the shore. The sky had darkened, and the planet's moons had risen -- three of them, one pale gold, one white, and one a soft, delicate peach -- and their light turned the sea to refulgent silver liquid. Black island after black island jutted up from the sea, sharply outlined in the moonlight, and the pilots of the crafts wove through them with expert care. Obi-Wan watched their progress intently, absorbing the minutiae of their surroundings, but also simply enjoying its raw beauty.

 

As the boats dipped into black, shining troughs and rose onto silvered moonlit crests, avoiding the black, jagged stones that seemed to rise from nothingness, Obi-Wan felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Leaning close to Qui-Gon, he whispered, "The Force is strong here, Master."

 

"I feel it, Padawan," Qui-Gon murmured, and made no further reply. Surreptitiously, Obi-Wan watched Qui-Gon gazing calmly at the sea. His master did not appear to be preoccupied, but Obi-Wan sensed that he was searching for the source of the energy they both felt.

 

After a prolonged silence, Qui-Gon leaned close to Obi-Wan. "Someone is guiding the transports, Obi-Wan."

 

Obi-Wan shook his head, frowning. "I can't tell."

 

"Concentrate on the lead craft. Perhaps it's the general himself."

 

Obi-Wan focused on the boat at the head of the convoy. "Yes," he whispered. "I feel it now, Master." He became aware that the boats were moving very swiftly; experience alone would not account for the surety of their passage around these treacherous obstacles. Someone was indeed guiding the crafts. "Whoever is responsible is powerful, Master." Powerful, indeed -- Obi-Wan wondered that he hadn't felt the swirl and eddy of the Force before this.

 

"Yes," Qui-Gon replied.

 

"Do you think that the person might have been an initiate at the Temple, Master? Or a padawan, perhaps?"

 

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I don't know." His hand came down, clapping Obi-Wan's knee. "We won't worry about it at present. I don't sense any danger."

 

Obi-Wan nodded, then looked down at the hand upon his knee, wishing -- foolishly, he knew -- that Qui-Gon would leave it there. He closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on the warm pressure, the breadth and spacing of Qui-Gon's fingers. All too quickly, Qui-Gon removed his hand, and Obi-Wan felt a painful surge of disappointment. He hid his distress easily, however, gazing with serene eyes upon the stark seascape -- even as he yearned for no more than the exquisite pleasure of leaning against his master, absorbing his strength and beauty. A touch, he thought, that might lead to other touches --

 

It cannot be, he told himself sternly. And you are no better than a grasping, whinging child for your absurd longing.

 

Presently a massive, black shadow fell astern of the watercrafts, jutting from the argent sea. The engines were cut, leaving only the ceaseless crash of water against rock and the mournful shrill of a lone piper.

 

"Thanach Hold," one of the soldiers said. They would have to climb the rest of the way; there were no aerial transports available at this hour. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon exchanged a quick glance and shouldered their packs, stepping onto a sandy beach scattered with shells.

 

There was a narrow path amongst the rocks, paved only by moonlight. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon climbed easily, picking their way through wet, shining black rock. The company was silent with the exception of the musicians, who had once again begun a rousing tune, climbing and playing without the least difficulty.

 

Obi-Wan's first sensation upon reaching the pinnacle of the hill was that he had landed in a world comprised almost entirely of glittering black rock and blazing silver moonlight. Cobbled streets, small, tidy dwellings, high walls, and structures of all kind seemed to be built of glistening stone. The torches threw red shadows upon the dark walls, and lights shone in every window despite the lateness of the hour. The music shrilled louder, seeming to echo off every surface. The escorts' bootheels rang against the cobble like iron, but not a soul emerged from the dwellings.

 

They were surrounded again. Feeling like an honored but well-guarded prisoner, Obi-Wan threw a glance of irritated amusement at Qui-Gon, who smiled, tucking his hands in his sleeves.

 

"Thanach Hold, Padawan," Qui-Gon said softly. "This appears to be an island."

 

"It is," said the general, who had come to stand beside them. "Thanach Hold will never be taken. Long live the Thanach!"

 

The cry was caught up by every soldier; the sound rose into the night, blending with the dissonant howling of the pipes and horns. Obi-Wan felt a peculiar discomfort, too nebulous to elucidate.

 

They were marched through a narrow, winding network of streets until they arrived at a vast edifice of grey stone. Guards stood every few meters, weapons at the ready. A set of black iron doors opened slowly, and they were granted admission to a sprawling courtyard, also guarded by soldiers. Another set of doors led to a great, drafty hall of stone, with torches throwing dancing firelight onto the floor.

 

There were soldiers everywhere, Obi-Wan noted. Apparently this fortress was not impenetrable.

 

They stopped at yet another set of doors, an unfamiliar metal of a rich reddish-brown hue, thickly engraved with ornate carvings. The music stopped, and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were urged forward.

 

Obi-Wan shivered suddenly. He felt the presence of the Force again, but it was not benign; indeed, there was a distinct menace to the sensations that sent a chill through his body. He looked to Qui-Gon and saw that Qui-Gon had felt it as well; his ever-calm expression had not changed, but the set of his body was alert, if not tense. Obi-Wan composed himself, feeling the reassuring weight of his lightsaber resting against his hip.

 

The doors opened slowly, and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon readied themselves. The Force was being manipulated by a sentient being -- someone who wielded an imperfect, yet powerful grip upon it.

 

This was to be an unusual mission, Obi-Wan was sure.

 

Three figures emerged as the doors swung open: two young men, and a young woman -- the one who had pleaded for assistance in the recording they'd seen, Obi-Wan realized.

 

"Welcome, honored Jedi," the young woman said, her voice low and pleasantly husky. "Welcome to Thanach Hold."

 

 

 

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon nodded gravely as the girl -- Edrei Thanach -- beckoned him and Obi-Wan into a spacious receiving room. As the doors closed behind them, Qui-Gon caught a sudden swirl of energy -- more rather egregious use of the Force, he realized.

 

The air bore a faint spicy-sweet aroma, a rich perfume or unguent. The scent emanated from smoking braziers at the end of the room -- a throne room, Qui-Gon now saw. There was a great chair carved of pale stone on a dais, sizeable enough to encompass even the largest human and luxuriantly draped with furs and jeweled brocades. Two smaller chairs were positioned on either side of the throne and, while not as lavish as the throne itself, were certainly not lacking in comfort or luxury.

 

Without appearing to, Qui-Gon examined his surroundings, noting that Obi-Wan did the same. The walls were a deep scarlet and hung with banners and faded tapestries. The floor was of black, polished stone, thick carpets scattered here and there, their deep, rich colors glowing against the stone. There were no other chairs in the room, Qui-Gon saw -- clearly this was not a place for discussion; rather, it seemed a forbidding room despite the appearance of warmth, as though a supplicant's pleas would be briefly considered, then basely ignored.

 

Frowning at these hasty and judgmental thoughts, Qui-Gon turned his attention to the trio, who had swept past them to ascend the dais. The young woman and the older of the two young men helped the other young man to the throne, as though he were an invalid. If the young man's body was feeble, his mind was not; his pale brown eyes were fiercely alive and intelligent. He regarded the two Jedi with a fixed stare.

 

The young woman gestured for the first young man to sit, then turned to Qui-Gon. "Honored Jedi," she said, "I am Edrei Thanach. This," she indicated the first young man with the back of her hand, "is my older brother Varden, the Prince Regent of Pralderis, and this," she said, smiling and indicating the young man in the great throne, "is my brother Ceirn, heir to the throne of Pralderis."

 

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan bowed. "Your Highness," Qui-Gon said, "we are pleased to help in whatever way we can. I am Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

 

"We are honored by your presence," the frail-looking young man said. His voice was low, but perfectly clear. "I hope your journey was comfortable. The waterways to the island can be dangerous."

 

Qui-Gon inclined his head. "Our passage was untroubled. The island, and what we have seen of the planet, are quite beautiful." He mentioned neither the general's discourtesy nor the Force-aided ease of their journey.

 

Ceirn smiled. "Thank you. Your arrival is the answer to our prayers. I fear the upheaval of the peaceful existence of our citizens."

 

"And at such an inopportune time," sighed Varden, his black brows knitted together.

 

"Inopportune in what way?" Qui-Gon asked.

 

"Ceirn attains his majority in a moons' cycle," Edrei explained. "He will be twenty-two --" she and Ceirn shared a quick smile, "and will ascend the throne of Pralderis. But to do so in such a crisis -- it's unthinkable." She shook her head.

 

"You expect the opposing party tomorrow," Qui-Gon said.

 

"I do not agree with this," Varden said. "We cannot allow those rabble access to Thanach Hold."

 

"Hosting the negotiations will be perceived as a gesture of goodwill," Qui-Gon said mildly. Privately, he doubted this; the best place to have held negotiation would have been on neutral ground, but the Thanach refused to leave their island. The dissenting faction had reluctantly agreed to meet at Thanach Hold. Qui-Gon wondered that their isolationism hadn't provoked dissent before this.

 

Varden slumped disconsolately in his throne, plucking at the metallic edge of his dark green robe. "They'll assassinate us in our beds," he muttered.

 

"Nonsense," Edrei frowned. "Forgive him, Master Jedi. It is time that the Thanach overcame their tendency toward -- insularity, let us say." She smiled brilliantly at Qui-Gon. "For far too long we've lived apart from our people, and I know that we are partially to blame for the strife that has recently plagued us. Pralderis can only survive in unity. A united Pralderis is our goal. My brother agrees, though you would not think it."

 

"And besides, Varden," Ceirn offered, "the dissenters are placing their trust in us. We could easily hold the leaders until they complied with our demands."

 

Varden shrugged, his expression neutral. "As you wish," he said. "I don't trust them." He gave Qui-Gon a wry smile, then smiled more widely at Obi-Wan. "I'm glad you're here, Jedi."

 

"We all are," Ceirn said, and Edrei softly echoed the agreement.

 

Qui-Gon nodded. "We have the demands that the opposing faction has outlined," he said. "With your permission, Obi-Wan and I will retire and study them, as well as your planned responses."

 

"If you succeed in resolving this conflict, Master Jedi, we will be eternally grateful to you," Edrei said. "We are prepared to pay --"

 

"We accept no remuneration for our services," Qui-Gon said.

 

"Oh, but a gift, surely."

 

"I think not," Qui-Gon said, his eyes twinkling. "But thank you. Besides -- we have yet to resolve the conflict."

 

Edrei's face puckered in a puzzled frown, then she laughed. "Oh! That's very amusing." She raised a hand, and Qui-Gon felt the Force surge around them, then heard the doors behind them swing open. Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan stiffen beside him, but he made no remark.

 

Proud of his padawan, Qui-Gon tucked his hands in his sleeves and smiled at the girl. "Impressive."

 

Edrei smiled in return. "The Gift, Master Jedi." Beside her, her brothers looked uneasy.

 

"You are strong in the Force," Qui-Gon observed.

 

"That's what you call it," Edrei laughed. "We all are -- all the Thanach have the Gift."

 

"If the Jedi had known of you, we would have requested that you be placed in the Temple to learn the ways of the Force. You might have become a Jedi," Qui-Gon said.

 

The girl laughed merrily. "I can't imagine that. I love my home too much, and the Jedi take children forever, don't they?"

 

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's indignation. "No one is kept against their will," Obi-Wan replied. Qui-Gon could feel his padawan striving for the calmest of tones. "A Jedi may leave at any time."

 

"So you do not belong to your master?" Ceirn inquired politely.

 

Qui-Gon hid a smile at Obi-Wan's sudden stunned silence.

 

"No," Obi-Wan managed. "I do not belong to him. I am his apprentice -- I belong with him."

 

Now Qui-Gon did smile, unable to quell a surge of pride -- and more -- in his padawan.

 

"My apologies," Ceirn said softly. "I spoke in haste. We know very little of your ways. Pralderis is not a member of the Republic, and we cannot expect our own culture to be readily accepted by outsiders."

 

"Then this will be a learning experience for all of us," Qui-Gon said.

 

A small cluster of servants had entered the room, and hovered just inside the door. "Take the Jedi to their quarters," Varden ordered. "Rearrange them as necessary, and see that they are made comfortable. We wish you a good evening, Master Jedi."

 

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan bowed, and walked through the ornately carved doors. He felt the Force surge again as the doors closed behind him. A prickle of unease traveled the length of his spine; he'd caught the faintest hint of Darkness rippling through the room. He felt Obi-Wan's gaze and glanced at him, tacitly warning silence. He walked through the hall, Obi-Wan at his side.

 

Clusters of richly dressed courtiers stood here and there, staring at them with eyes that bore a slight trace of hostility. Qui-Gon nodded politely and was ignored.

 

A door was opened, and they were ushered into a hall lit by torches, the firelight throwing eerie shapes onto the stone walls.

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan concentrated on the path as they were led through twisting, torchlit corridors, each one barely discernible from the last. The ceilings were low; Obi-Wan noticed that Qui-Gon, as well as several of their escorts, found it necessary to duck passing through a doorway.

 

After what seemed like an eternity, they were shown to a cavernous room dominated by an enormous bed draped in heavy brocades. Their packs had been placed on a padded bench at the foot of the bed. A fire roared in a fireplace which looked large enough to roast a bantha. It was not a comforting room, by any means, but it was more graciously equipped than the quarters he and Qui-Gon had been forced to occupy on many a mission, Obi-Wan thought.

 

"I'll have the boy's things moved," a woman muttered, gesturing to a young man, who scuttled forward to seize Obi-Wan's pack.

 

"I would like to have Obi-Wan occupy a room as close to this as possible," Qui-Gon said.

 

The woman snorted disdainfully. "There's one next to this," she said. "You'll have access, never fear."

 

Obi-Wan, to his shame, felt his cheeks and the tips of his ears become very warm. He turned, not wanting Qui-Gon to witness his discomfiture.

 

"Come along, boy," one of the guards said to him, taking him by the arm. Obi-Wan nodded politely despite his embarrassed annoyance and stepped into the corridor. The guard stopped, glaring at Qui-Gon, who had followed them. "What is it?" the man inquired irritably. "This is what you wanted."

 

"I wish to see my padawan's quarters," Qui-Gon replied, his tone affable. "Surely that is allowed." He glanced pointedly at the man's hand, still upon Obi-Wan's arm. "He's not going to run away on you."

 

Obi-Wan hid his grin in a cough.

 

"All right," the escort conceded grudgingly, releasing Obi-Wan's arm. "Let's get on with it." He marched down the hall to a door several meters away from Qui-Gon's, flinging it open without ceremony and brusquely gesturing Obi-Wan inside. Gritting his teeth, Obi-Wan smiled politely and nodded his thanks, entering a room nearly as large as Qui-Gon's, with the pleasant addition of a curtained balcony. Swiftly, but with decided resentment, two of the servants set about kindling a fire in the fireplace.

 

"There's a bell by the bed," the woman said, pointing, "should you need anything. You can go outside if you want, but if you need to get anywhere inside -- ring. It's easy to become lost, and I've better things to do than to be sending Malach here in search of you. Go on, boy, on the bench," she snapped to the young man who held Obi-Wan's pack.

 

"I'm sure we'll manage," Qui-Gon said equably.

 

"I'm sure," the woman snorted. "You'll be brought breakfast tomorrow morning. The bath connects your rooms." She waved the servants and guards out, and glared at the Jedi that promised dire consequences should her directives be ignored.

 

"Thank you very much," Obi-Wan said. "I'm sure we'll be quite --"

 

The woman walked out, slamming the door behind her.

 

"-- comfortable," Obi-Wan finished.

 

"Dear me," Qui-Gon murmured. "Something we said?"

 

"Somehow I don't feel welcome here, Master," Obi-Wan smiled.

 

Qui-Gon favored him with a look of mock astonishment. "What makes you say that?" He walked to the balcony and drew aside the curtains. "You have a view, Padawan," he remarked. "I want to change rooms."

 

"If you like, Master," Obi-Wan began, but Qui-Gon stopped him with a laugh and a wave. "Just a joke, Obi-Wan. Shall we take in the evening air? I fear it's the only place we'll be allowed to travel unescorted." He unlatched the door and stepped out. Obi-Wan followed, pushing the curtain away. A shiver trailed up his spine, and he wrapped his cloak tightly about himself.

 

The balcony was huge and sprawling, paved with broad flagstones. A short flight of stairs led to an expanse of grass dotted with tall, massive stones. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon walked through the long, wet grass, past the stones. A thick fog had all but obscured the light from the moons. Obi-Wan frowned, straining to see, and yelped as he felt a hand close on the hood of his robe and yank him backward. He twisted his ankle, and nearly lost his balance. He felt a chunk of rock giving way beneath him, and the dizzying sensation of dangling into open space for an instant before Qui-Gon's arm, wrapped around his waist, pulled him to safety. He heard the rock falling, striking a cliff wall, a nearly endless descent.

 

"Careful, Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice was sharp.

 

Righting himself as Qui-Gon released him, Obi-Wan looked down, squinting through the fog, seeing that the grass had abruptly ended. Had he taken another step, he would have plunged down a ravine that seemed to be hundreds of meters deep.

 

"Sorry, Master," he said. "I didn't see it at all."

 

"Listen, Obi-Wan." Obi-Wan focused and heard the very distant sound of water slapping against rock.

 

"The ocean, Master."

 

"Yes. This place truly is an island. I hope they don't host small children out here. Attune yourself to your surroundings, Obi-Wan."

 

Obi-Wan flushed. "I'm sorry, Master." He turned and made his way back through the ever-thickening fog. A ten-year-old initiate could have sensed that ravine. What was wrong with him?

 

Qui-Gon caught up with him, putting his arm around Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I have the feeling that the Thanach don't have guests often." His tone was kind.

 

"They certainly don't have much to offer in the way of hospitality," Obi-Wan grinned wryly, silently thanking Qui-Gon for not insulting his dignity. "The servants don't, at least."

 

"Edrei Thanach spoke of insularity," Qui-Gon mused. "I imagine they've become despots."

 

"What about their use of the Force, Master?" Obi-Wan asked, reveling in Qui-Gon's touch, though not daring to step closer to his master. "Edrei displayed control and skill -- who do you suppose could have taught her?"

 

"She said all the Thanach have the gift. As Pralderis is not part of the Republic, perhaps use of the Force has been handed down from generation to generation," Qui-Gon reasoned.

 

"But without Jedi training --"

 

"They would still have access to the Force, Padawan," Qui-Gon reproached gently. "Not even the Jedi know everything about the Force. Perhaps the Thanach have something to teach us."

 

"They certainly didn't know much about the Jedi," Obi-Wan observed. "They thought you owned me, Master."

 

"I noticed," Qui-Gon replied. "Don't be so quick to judge, Padawan. The young man admitted he knew nothing of our ways."

 

"Sorry, Master," Obi-Wan muttered.

 

Qui-Gon stopped beside a stone, putting his hands on Obi-Wan's shoulders and peering into his face. "Padawan -- are you all right?"

 

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Something's not right, Master -- I can feel it. I swear I sensed Darkness." That, and I'm mooning over you like a lovestruck Bantha, Master, Obi-Wan thought unhappily.

 

"I felt it also, Padawan," Qui-Gon said. "But we must be careful. I've never met a Force-sensitive, untrained by the Jedi, with so much control. Can it be that it's simply the way they're manipulating the Force, using methods different from our own, and we are misinterpreting their power?"

 

"I sensed fear, Master," Obi-Wan said. "And distrust."

 

"Distrust is easy enough," Qui-Gon smiled, "judging from the reactions of some of the servants."

 

"All of the servants," Obi-Wan corrected.

 

"Very well, all of them," Qui-Gon conceded with a laugh. "I'm not dismissing your concerns, Obi-Wan -- far from it. We must be cautious, of course. I admit I'm curious to see if the rest of the family has similar powers to the girl's. Did you notice that her brothers didn't seem pleased that she displayed her use of the Force?"

 

"I did, Master."

 

"Let us watch them carefully, Padawan. It may have little bearing on the mission, but I'm intrigued."

 

"Yes, Master."

 

They walked back to the balcony, and into Obi-Wan's room, Qui-Gon's arm still around Obi-Wan's shoulder. Once inside, Qui-Gon pointed to the bench before Obi-Wan's bed. "Sit."

 

Obi-Wan sat obediently, silent as Qui-Gon knelt and unfastened Obi-Wan's boot. Drawing it and his sock off, Qui-Gon examined Obi-Wan's ankle.

 

"It's fine, Master," Obi-Wan said softly.

 

"You were limping."

 

"Just a sprain," Obi-Wan said. "It should be fine by morning." He closed his eyes as Qui-Gon placed a hand on the sore ankle, feeling a tingling warmth emanating from Qui-Gon's touch.

 

The pain in his ankle was negligible, but Obi-Wan would not have stopped Qui-Gon for worlds.

 

Qui-Gon rose. "Try standing on it now."

 

Obi-Wan stood and leaned his weight on the foot. He walked across the room and back with ease, smiling at Qui-Gon. "Much better, Master. Thank you."

 

Qui-Gon smiled in return. "I'll get my datapad," he said. "Bonor Dibann was kind enough to make excellent notes for us; the least we can do is study them."

 

They read and discussed their mission parameters for a time before deciding to retire. Qui-Gon bade Obi-Wan a quiet good night, saying he would see Obi-Wan in the morning.

 

Obi-Wan watched Qui-Gon go, feeling a peculiar sickened disappointment. Sighing, he crouched before the fire, staring into the flickering flames.

 

An intelligent, rational being accepts the truth, he thought. Qui-Gon was his master. He was a kind and compassionate man, even-tempered and a person of excellent humor. He was impressive in battle and in negotiation, and it was only natural that Obi-Wan should indulge in hero-worship. Doubtless it was not the first time a padawan had admired a master -- perhaps to excess, Obi-Wan admitted to himself -- and likely it would not be the last. And that, Obi-Wan thought, was the truth.

 

But there were other truths -- truths that had insinuated themselves into his consciousness, truths that had begun as mere seeds in his youthful admiration, and had now bloomed into fullness. There were thoughts that his innocent boy's mind had conjured, and that he had abandoned in shame, confused and frightened at the intensity of his own body's response. Eventually, the thoughts had returned with greater power, inflaming Obi-Wan's senses -- no longer confusing, but still slightly frightening. As he grew older, he sought to release them by seeking out pleasure and finding any number of willing companions in his quest.

 

Far from dissuading Obi-Wan -- as Obi-Wan had secretly hoped he would -- Qui-Gon had encouraged Obi-Wan to enjoy himself, with gentle admonitions to be careful. The thrill of freedom eventually dissipating, Obi-Wan had formed a relationship with his friend and agemate Garen, who was quick-witted, amusing, and attractive, and adventurous in matters of lovemaking. That had diminished the hold Qui-Gon had unwittingly wielded over Obi-Wan -- until recently.

 

Why Obi-Wan's feelings had returned with such intensity he could not say. He only knew that when he was with Qui-Gon he was happy, and the smallest aspects of his master delighted him -- the timbre of his voice, the line of his throat, the deep blue of his eyes. When Qui-Gon was not with him, Obi-Wan carried his image even in places utterly alien to anything resembling sweetness or affection -- barren, frozen worlds nearly devoid of life, hostile cities teeming with the craven and unscrupulous, harsh sunlit deserts. Recently, when he lay with Garen, feeling the compact, youthful muscularity of Garen's body, he imagined Qui-Gon's body pressed against his, Qui-Gon's long legs wrapped around his, Qui-Gon taking him and possessing him. Try as he might to conquer his own desire, he could not, and to his shame, Garen remarked that on those occasions, Obi-Wan was wild, driven, and more passionate than usual.

 

Obi-Wan stood, feeling only the slightest twinge from his ankle. "Master," he whispered, as though fearing his voice would carry through walls of ancient stone, "I love you."

 

That was truth, and as an intelligent, rational being, Obi-Wan accepted it.

 

Qui-Gon was pledged to another. That, too, was truth.

 

Sighing, Obi-Wan undressed, slipped between cold sheets, and fell asleep, dreaming of his master.

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon took a draught of the strong, hot tea he'd been offered, and sat back, contemplating the teacup's greyish-gold luster, its eggshell fragility.

 

The first day of negotiations had not gone as well as Qui-Gon had hoped. In fact, they had gone quite badly. The agreed-upon site of the talks -- a vast, overheated hall deep within the bowels of Thanach Hold -- had barely contained tempers that had flared hotter and brighter than the massive fires which roared at either end of the room. The day's early brittle cordiality had been replaced by outright hostility over what had seemed to be minor details but were more likely old wounds never fully healed: tithes and taxes, disputes over borders created by the whims and vagaries of nature, ancient families and clans ruptured by ancient feuding, abduction and slavery, claims of midnight raids and assassinations on both sides, dating back hundreds of years. If there had been peace as Edrei Thanach had claimed, then it surely must have been an uneasy one. Neither side seemed willing to compromise. Still, it was only the first day, Qui-Gon mused; it would likely take several painstaking and careful weeks of negotiation before either side was ready to make any sort of concession.

 

Too, Qui-Gon felt uneasy; both sides, he sensed, were concealing truth. That might take weeks to discover as well.

 

"Master Jedi."

 

Qui-Gon was startled from his reverie. Edrei Thanach sat opposite him, smiling. He'd been slightly disconcerted when, after accepting her invitation to supper, he had discovered that he was her only guest. He had expected to be led to a banquet table occupied by ministers and courtiers -- Thanach all, as he had been informed -- and certainly the visiting leaders of the Thanach's opposition. Instead, he had been escorted -- by a complement of fully armed guards -- through more dark and twisting passages to this dim and richly ornamented suite of rooms, redolent of spices and perfumes, and had been all but placed in a chair at a table set for two. Edrei Thanach had emerged from a curtained alcove and had greeted him formally.

 

Now Edrei smiled at him as she sipped from a goblet that held a deep-red wine identical in hue to the embroidered gown she wore. "Where were you just now, Master Jedi?"

 

Qui-Gon smiled. "I was contemplating the work ahead of us. Forgive my inattention, your Highness."

 

The girl laughed. "It's just Edrei, please...may I call you Qui-Gon?"

 

"Of course."

 

"I think we may achieve some real results, Qui-Gon. It's lucky for us that you're here -- I think that the prospect of an impartial mediator was the only point that brought both sides together."

 

"I did not know that the opposing faction were once part of your family."

 

Edrei flushed. "We no longer claim kinship with them, Qui-Gon. That schism was many hundreds of years ago; they may call themselves Thanach, but they're not truly family."

 

Qui-Gon regarded the girl steadily. "They seem to consider themselves family," he remarked.

 

"They aren't, believe me." Edrei took a deep draught of wine.

 

Qui-Gon nodded, wondering if the girl was truly sincere in her declaration of hope for a united Pralderis. "It will not be easy," he said. "However, that both sides have come together is a testament to your resolve for peace. It is a promising beginning."

 

"I cannot believe that such petty issues were brought forth so quickly," Edrei said.

 

"Old scars run deep," Qui-Gon replied.

 

Edrei threw him a sharp glance. "Indeed, Qui-Gon, but their claims cannot be substantiated. There is no oppression on Pralderis. The Thanach lead, but truly, we are the servants of our people. All our will and being are for the good of our people. This...faction is representative of a small minority, but they are vocal." She passed a hand over her brow. "I have been trained in the ways of leadership from the cradle, but I admit that I am frustrated by their accusations."

 

"We will endeavor to see that Pralderis is unified," Qui-Gon said. He'd discerned the ring of conviction in the girl's voice; whether or not what she'd said was true, she evidently believed it.

 

"Do you know, I believe you will," she smiled. "But let's talk of pleasanter things. Are your accommodations to your liking?"

 

"They are. Obi-Wan and I are quite comfortable."

 

Edrei's smile dimmed. "Forgive my brother's mistake, Qui-Gon. There is a tradition of slavery on Pralderis that we are not proud of; it has only recently been abolished. It is difficult to unlearn tradition, no matter how dishonorable it may be. When your apprentice called you 'Master,' I'm afraid he presumed greatly."

 

Qui-Gon took another sip of tea, concealing his frown. Had Obi-Wan called him by his title? He didn't think so; he couldn't recall Obi-Wan addressing him until they'd been alone, but perhaps he was mistaken. "No offense was taken," he said.

 

"You are companions, you and Obi-Wan?" Edrei inquired. "You travel together?"

 

"Obi-Wan has been my apprentice since he was a boy," Qui-Gon replied. "The Jedi Council assigns us to missions together."

 

"And you both have the Gift."

 

"We call it the Force," Qui-Gon said.

 

"Yes, so you said," the girl said, her eyes shining. "All the Jedi have...the Force. It's the same, though, no matter what it's called, isn't it? I cannot believe that there are so many of you."

 

"Not so many," Qui-Gon smiled. "In all the galaxy, there are less than ten thousand Jedi. Sometimes it doesn't seem nearly enough."

 

"That explains why they only sent two of you."

 

"Our escort -- Einan Thanach -- expressed some concern about that," Qui-Gon said. "The Jedi are trained to be warriors, Edrei, but our chief mission is the guardianship of peace in the galaxy. It's the rare war that results in peace and prosperity. Knowledge, harmony, and serenity are a Jedi's greatest weapons."

 

"If you say that two men can prevent civil war, Qui-Gon, then I will not doubt you. Tell me more of the Jedi. What do you do when you're not saving worlds from chaos?"

 

Qui-Gon laughed. "We aren't so different from anyone else. A great deal of time is spent in improving one's skills. We meditate and study, we train physically and spiritually for crises and conflicts, but we have time for friends and recreation as well."

 

"Do Jedi have spouses, or families?"

 

"Some do," Qui-Gon said. "Many form pairings with other Jedi. It's difficult for someone who is not a Jedi to accept and adapt to our ways. Those who do are greatly treasured."

 

"And do you all live in a hold?"

 

"Our main residence is the Jedi Temple on Coruscant," Qui-Gon explained. "It is the center of our Order."

 

"I see," Edrei said thoughtfully. "And you all live there?"

 

"For the most part," Qui-Gon said, setting his teacup on the table. "Coruscant's central location makes it simpler when a Jedi is called on a mission."

 

Edrei nodded. "Tell me more. What about the Gift -- or the Force?"

 

Qui-Gon talked steadily, encouraged by the girl's rapt attention. If all the Thanach were strong in the Force, then perhaps overtures could be made to seek out the Force-sensitive children and, provided they were of an appropriate age and with their parents' permission, naturally, bring them back to the Temple. Such would surely be an asset to the Jedi, and it bore investigation at any rate -- an unbroken lineage, all Force-sensitive.

 

"Perhaps you can show me your powers soon," Edrei suggested, smiling, "and I will show you mine. But not tonight -- I should allow you to rest. It's been a long day for you, hasn't it?"

 

Qui-Gon admitted that it had been. "I'll welcome another opportunity to speak with you, Edrei." He rose to his feet.

 

Edrei rose as well. "I'll escort you back to your room myself."

 

"You needn't," Qui-Gon said. "Just give me directions, and I'll find it myself."

 

"Oh, no, Qui-Gon. You mustn't wander these corridors alone. Why, I barely do myself."

 

"Surely there isn't any danger," Qui-Gon said.

 

"No, it's not that," Edrei said, looking uncomfortable. "It's just that it's so easy to become lost. I get turned around myself if I'm not careful."

 

The girl was lying; Qui-Gon was sure of it. Qui-Gon decided not to argue, and inclined his head. "Very well -- as you wish."

 

Smiling, Edrei slipped her hand beneath his arm. "Oh, I do."

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan paced the length of his room, listening to the echo of his bootheels against the stone floor. He'd been escorted to his room after the first meeting had come to its conclusion and a meal had been brought to him shortly thereafter. He'd eaten and rung for the detritus to be removed, and had asked the surly manservant if he might be granted permission to walk through Thanach Hold.

 

"I'll fetch an escort for you," the manservant had said shortly.

 

"No -- no, that's not necessary," Obi-Wan had said, disappointed. "I'll stay here." The manservant had shrugged and gone about his duties, leaving without another word. After the man had left, Obi-Wan had gone to the balcony doors, but they'd been chained shut from the outside. Annoyed, he'd taken out his datapad and begun to read but, rankled by his enforced stillness, he'd begun to pace, feeling very much a prisoner.

 

If only Qui-Gon were here, they could have at least talked, Obi-Wan reflected. Qui-Gon had disappeared after the meeting, and hadn't said a word to Obi-Wan. It was customary for them to dissect and analyze a negotiation, but the opportunity hadn't yet arisen. Qui-Gon had smiled at Obi-Wan and said he'd see him presently, then walked away, flanked by guards.

 

And I thought this place was peaceful, Obi-Wan thought grimly. Why all the escorts? There must be something that we're not supposed to see.

 

Obi-Wan went to the door, half-expecting it to be locked as well. It was not; it did, however, groan loudly on its hinges when Obi-Wan pushed it open. Wincing, he peered out cautiously, but there was no one about; the stone hallway was deserted, the only sound the snapping of torches hung at intervals along the walls.

 

Smiling a little, Obi-Wan stepped into the hall. He hadn't been expressly ordered to stay in his room, and perhaps he could gain some sense of direction by exploring these halls. Besides, he was bored nearly senseless.

 

He crept down the hall, noting small flaws in the stones, iron-bound doors, landmarks to assist him in finding his way back swiftly, if need be. It was eerily quiet; Qui-Gon had informed him that most of the opposing faction's representatives were being quartered in the village surrounding Thanach Hold, and not in the Hold itself. So the regent was no doubt delighted that the possibility of being assassinated in his bed was now greatly reduced.

 

Obi-Wan frowned. He'd watched Varden's and Ceirn's expressions as the meeting had dragged on and on, and they had seemed singularly bored, and certainly not distressed by the possibility of civil war. Border disputes and old clan feuds weren't generally fascinating, Obi-Wan thought, but within the larger scope of things, all details mattered. Perhaps they felt that the presence of the Jedi relieved them of responsibility. Too, they were young men -- Varden was no more than thirty, and Ceirn just a few years older than Obi-Wan himself, and no doubt they were used to more diverting pursuits, allowing their ministers, who were Thanach as well -- was there a soul on this island who wasn't a Thanach? -- to administer to the needs of the planet.

 

The passageways of the Hold were narrow, and they wound in no discernible order. Halls branched off from each other, and each door seemed like the last. It would be easy to become lost, Obi-Wan thought, but so far he had no fear that such would happen.

 

Obi-Wan came upon a narrow, curving flight of stairs, partially concealed behind a wall. The stairway was dark, so Obi-Wan lifted a torch from its sconce and descended carefully, torch outthrust.

 

The stairs seemed endless; there were no landings and, looking up, Obi-Wan no longer saw the light from the upstairs hall. Briefly, he considered going back up, but dismissed it; he had to be close to a floor. Thanach Hold was vast, but not bottomless, surely.

 

Finally he saw a broad expanse of floor, and three torchlit corridors. He stood before them, considering, hearing Qui-Gon's voice in his mind.

 

"Attune yourself to your surroundings."

 

Obi-Wan focused and let the Force flow through him. He caught the faint aroma of spice and cooking food from one corridor. No, he decided -- better to proceed undiscovered. He chose the corridor on the far left and, finding an empty sconce, set the torch inside. He walked down the hall, feeling an unpleasant shiver coursing through his body that had little to do with the temperature of the corridor.

 

Obi-Wan heard the soft laughter of women behind one door, and low voices. He leaned close to the door, but could hear only garbled snatches of conversation; the doors and walls were very thick. He moved on, noticing that the air was different -- more damp and chill. I'm underground, he realized. This place is larger than I'd thought.

 

All at once, he sensed the Force moving around him. The sensation was startling, as though an icy wind had wound itself around his body. He whirled, drawing his saber, but the corridor was empty.

 

Chiding himself, he replaced his saber and continued down the hall. Overactive imagination, he thought, stifling a grin.

 

He heard more voices, both masculine and feminine, from behind another door. The voices were loud, raised in anger. Curious, he placed his ear to the door to listen.

 

"They'll know it's a farce," a woman exclaimed. "If you'd ever gone off-planet, you'd be able to see --"

 

"Be silent!" a male voice shouted. "If you doubt, you should leave at once. We cannot be divided."

 

"You're forgetting the real insurrection," another voice said, heavily laced with irony. "All this talk of Jedi is absurd. You --" the voice was drowned out as others rose in pitch, furious and fearful.

 

Obi-Wan stiffened at the mention of the Jedi. And a farce...? Something was wrong; he and Qui-Gon had both sensed it at the negotiation and had acknowledged it with a single exchanged glance, but this seemed to be proof. Straining to pick one voice out over the other, Obi-Wan placed his palms flat on the door and pressed his ear against the unyielding wood.

 

The Force swirled around him again but, distracted by the furious arguing within the room, Obi-Wan did not sense it until it was too late.

 

When it prickled again, he half-turned, seeing only blackness, but feeling something heavy and blunt thudding into his skull. He swayed, and another blow sent him crumpling to the ground, unconscious.

 

**********

 

Two figures leaned over the still form of the young Jedi. One placed a hand against the lump on Obi-Wan's head.

 

"How is he?"

 

"He'll be all right." Obi-Wan was turned over, and white fingers traced over the slightly parted lips. "I didn't hit him that hard."

 

"Can you make him forget?"

 

"I think so. This will work to our advantage. Lift him."

 

"It's too early to --"

 

"I know that. Keep your mouth shut."

 

"He's trouble, and so is the other. What are we going to do?"

 

"I've told you -- don't worry about it."

 

"What about --" A hand gestured toward the door, where a fierce battle still raged within.

 

"Let them argue." The reply was filled with scorn. "Come on."

 

There was a grunt of exertion, a shimmering of Force, and the ring of bootsteps against stone as Obi-Wan was borne away.

 

*

 

A single swallow of the golden liquid in the bottom of the glass, and behold....

 

The soft pulsing hum of the city-planet that was never entirely silenced even by thick plates of transparisteel faded into nothingness as he looked out onto the skyline, the twinkling lights blurring into a single, pleasant glow.

 

The glow faded, leaving darkness like a deep, still pool of starless night, and he dived in, plunging through layers of ink-black gossamer, of soft oblivion to another hazy glow light years away.

 

Sounds returned -- a hum, then voices, thousands of voices raised in glorious song as the light grew stronger and he saw a thousand shades of...

 

...of dirt. Dirt in all its hues clothing ten thousand dirty, cringing souls as they screamed for mercy. Red blossoms sprang up in the dirt, in the sand, trickling onto smooth stone floors.

 

A purging, he thought, and a gentle smile of contemplation creased his face. Filth must be cleansed, the harvest reaped. He saw worlds upon worlds, his to own, his to plunder, as ripe and pliant as the bodies of the padawans who would wait, bound before him, one by one, the flower of the Order, as he satisfied himself. Their cries and screams as he slaughtered their masters were the sweetest of harmonies, their agonized pleas falling upon his ears like celestial choirs as infants were pulled from creches and heaped upon the floors.

 

He saw himself in a death chamber, a round room, twelve bodies at his feet, their multihued blood a glorious swirl soaking into the hem of his robe. Coruscant was spread out before him, vast and glittering, and beyond that, the entire galaxy like a vast scattering of precious jewels, realms of power, of treasure, of certainty where once there had been only vapor.

 

His time was at hand. The Light would fall.

 

"My Lord." The voice was soft, humble. "My Lord."

 

He came to himself with a start. "Leth."

 

Leth knelt beside him, drawing blood from his arm. "Tell me what you felt, my Lord."

 

"Travel with me, Leth, and you can experience it for yourself."

 

She shook her head, her eyes lowered. "I can't, my Lord. I've told you --" She broke off as he took her chin in his hand and raised her face to his. Her eyes were wary.

 

"You're afraid, Umak."

 

"I don't trust it, my Lord -- I can't take the word of one ignorant girl as truth. She has no idea what she has, and without tests --"

 

"Then you'll test it," he said softly. "As much as you need to. But I have seen the future, Umak, and it is glorious. My path is clear, not amorphous. All possibilities end in triumph."

 

"For you, my Lord -- but could it not be your own desires and ambitions enhanced by the flower? A different distillation, a shift in molecular structure, and --"

 

"You will test it," he said softly. "As much as need be." He was silent a while, watching as she rose with her vial of blood. "A flower, Leth. Test the flower on a flower."

 

Leth frowned. "My Lord?"

 

"A Jedi, Leth. Someone here on Coruscant...a padawan. And then, a master."

 

She shook her head, her expression troubled. "My Lord --"

 

He glanced at her with faded blue eyes. "Leth...with whom does your loyalty lie?"

 

"With you, my Lord, of course, but --"

 

"A flower, Leth. I want a flower. And then we shall see..."

 

"Yes, my Lord."

 

He turned his attention back to the sparkling panorama before him -- the shining gem that would one day be his. He raised a hand, and a tiny blue spark danced on the tips of his fingers and skated down his hand, disappearing.

 

His path was clear. The Light would fall.

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon frowned, marking his steps as Edrei led him through the labyrinth of corridors toward his room. They had ascended three flights of stairs, and Qui-Gon didn't remembered traveling any stairways to reach her chamber from his own. The floors had seemed to slant in places, though -- perhaps the incline had been too gradual to notice.

 

Qui-Gon could not suppress a smile as he walked, responding to Edrei's brightly voiced questions. He was baffled in this strangely configured place, and he'd chided Obi-Wan only yesterday for not being attuned to his surroundings. Obi-Wan had nearly fallen, though, and Qui-Gon had covered his own relief by speaking sharply to his padawan.

 

It was late; he hoped that Obi-Wan would still be awake when he arrived at his room -- whenever that might be, he told himself ruefully, descending a short stone staircase.

 

Edrei turned to him, laughing. "Now you see, Qui-Gon, how confusing all this is. I've considered hiring a mapmaker to survey this place."

 

"It is a complex arrangement," Qui-Gon said neutrally. Complex, indeed, he thought -- it's absurd. There's got to be an easier way to navigate.

 

"Not long now," she announced gaily. "You can --" she stopped short, and let out a low cry. Qui-Gon nearly crashed into her as she stood stock-still in the middle of the hallway.

 

Obi-Wan lay in a huddle on the floor, unconscious, his robe pooled out around him.

 

"Padawan," Qui-Gon gasped, pushing past the girl and dropping to the ground beside Obi-Wan. He gathered Obi-Wan into his arms and cradled his head, his heart clenching at Obi-Wan's closed eyes, his white lips. "Padawan -- can you hear me?"

 

Edrei had dashed to the end of the hall and was yanking at a bell pull. The noise pealed throughout the stone halls before Qui-Gon could protest, and soon they were surrounded by people -- Thanach advisors, courtiers, members of the opposition party, servants, guards -- all of whom milled about, murmuring, offering useless advice.

 

"Is the boy ill?"

 

"Did he fall?"

 

"Don't jar him."

 

Qui-Gon, impatient but too worried to bother dismissing the lot of them, glanced up at Edrei. Varden and Ceirn had appeared at her side, and she was clinging to both of them. "I want to take him to my room," he said to Edrei, who was staring in fear and anxiety, her eyes round. "Have you a healer?"

 

"She's in the village," General Thanach said, "assisting at a birth. I thought all you Jedi were healers."

 

Qui-Gon scowled. "There is a limit to what I can do," he snapped. As his hand beneath Obi-Wan's head shifted, Qui-Gon felt an anomaly. He gently lay Obi-Wan on the floor and touched his fingertips to the back of his padawan's head, sucking in a quick breath at the large bump on Obi-Wan's skull. He looked at his fingertips, but saw no blood.

 

Obi-Wan had been lying face-down, and the bump was on the back of his skull, just behind his left ear. Qui-Gon looked up at the assembled crowd, a thorn of anger piercing his worry. "He's been struck with a heavy object."

 

A shocked murmuring broke out amongst the assemblage.

 

"I knew it," Varden said angrily. "Treachery."

 

The leader of the opposition, a stout, white-haired man seemingly partial to flamboyant clothing and who called himself Eorn Thanach, glared at Varden. "What are you saying? Are you accusing us of attacking the boy?"

 

"Someone must have," Varden snarled.

 

"Varden," Ceirn said softly. "Please --"

 

"Why us?" Eorn Thanach shouted. "Why not you?"

 

"My own guest? In my own palace?"

 

"Your palace?" sneered Eorn. "Is that what you think? Yours?"

 

A clamor of voices erupted, angry, chattering, strident.

 

"Enough!" Qui-Gon barked. He rose to his feet, Obi-Wan cradled in his arms. "Baseless accusations won't help anyone right now -- least of all my apprentice. I suggest you all go back to your rooms. The talks will resume in the morning if he is well." He turned to Edrei, speaking more gently. "Edrei, I must get to my room at once. I have medical supplies there."

 

Edrei nodded. "Yes -- yes, of course. We're very close. Come with me." She beckoned with a hand, moving effortlessly through the crowd. Qui-Gon followed, clasping Obi-Wan closely to himself.

 

They traveled swiftly through several narrow, torchlit hallways, the babble of voices -- still angry, Qui-Gon noted wearily -- diminishing as they moved through the corridors. At last they came to a familiar door, and Edrei pushed it open, gesturing for Qui-Gon to precede her.

 

Qui-Gon lay Obi-Wan on the bed and retrieved his pack. "Go on, Edrei," he said, pulling out supplies. "Calm your people down. They'll listen to you."

 

"I?" the girl faltered. "Qui-Gon --"

 

Qui-Gon nodded, ripping open a bacta patch. "Your brothers need your help, and I can tend to Obi-Wan myself."

 

Edrei hesitated perceptibly. "But the healer --"

 

"Have her come to us in the morning, if she's able. I'll do what I can now." He glanced down at Obi-Wan, seeing that the young man had begun to stir. Relief washed over him, and he placed a hand on Obi-Wan's cheek. "Obi-Wan," he whispered. "Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan moaned softly.

 

Edrei stared at Qui-Gon's hand. "All right," she said. "I'll -- I'll send the healer as soon as I can."

 

"Morning will be soon enough," Qui-Gon said, smiling a little at the girl. "Thank you."

 

She nodded, and walked slowly from the room, closing the door behind her and leaving Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan in blessed silence.

 

Qui-Gon breathed a sigh of relief and set to work, unrolling the bacta patch and easing Obi-Wan onto his side. He winced at Obi-Wan's groan when the sore spot was touched. Obi-Wan shifted as the bacta sank into the skin and began its work. Qui-Gon lay a hand on Obi-Wan's forehead, damp and cool to the touch. He sent a pulse of energy to Obi-Wan, drawing back abruptly as he sensed the Force, dark and shifting, skittering from beneath his hand like a panicked beetle.

 

Someone had wielded the Force as a weapon against Obi-Wan -- he could feel the last lingering traces melting away even as he gave voice to the thought. "Obi-Wan -- who did this to you?"

 

"Master..."

 

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon knelt beside the bed to spare his padawan from rising and perhaps causing himself further injury. "Padawan, don't try to move. You've been attacked."

 

Obi-Wan's eyes were clouded with confusion. "What?"

 

"Don't move, Padawan." Qui-Gon placed one hand against Obi-Wan's forehead and the other on his chest, stilling him as he struggled to sit up. "Someone's attacked you. Did see who it was?"

 

"Someone hit me?" Obi-Wan's brow creased. "I can't remember that."

 

Qui-Gon frowned. "What's the last thing you remember?"

 

Obi-Wan shook his head, wincing a little in pain. "I remember wanting to walk outside. The balcony doors are chained from the outside, Master."

 

Qui-Gon lifted an eyebrow. "They weren't chained yesterday."

 

"I know. I thought it was unusual. I wanted to explore --" Obi-Wan shifted and groaned.

 

"Careful, Padawan." Qui-Gon smoothed Obi-Wan's hair. "What happened then?"

 

"I don't know," Obi-Wan scowled. "I remember opening the door, but I don't remember walking out of the room."

 

"We found you in a corridor," Qui-Gon waved a hand, "some distance from here."

 

"We?"

 

"Edrei and I. I'd had dinner with her."

 

Obi-Wan nodded with difficulty. "Oh."

 

"Padawan, I fear that whoever hit you has tampered with your memory. I felt the Force as I tried to heal you -- another presence."

 

"One of the Thanach?"

 

Qui-Gon smiled grimly. "They're all Thanach, Obi-Wan, even the opposition. I don't think they believe in exogamy."

 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly. "What do you think they'd hoped to gain, Master? The talks have barely begun." He settled into the pillow, and Qui-Gon saw him wince again.

 

"I don't know," Qui-Gon said, sending as much soothing energy to Obi-Wan as possible. "I wonder if perhaps you saw something you weren't supposed to see."

 

Obi-Wan's eyes opened, found Qui-Gon's, and dropped again. "I'm sorry, Master. I know I shouldn't have gone without your permission."

 

"Don't apologize, Obi-Wan. I might have done the same thing. You gave me a fright, though." Qui-Gon smiled, as much to reassure himself as Obi-Wan. "I don't like finding you unconscious in strange hallways."

 

"Very strange," Obi-Wan said. "Very --" He broke off, frowning, and then shook his head slightly, the movement causing him to wince again. "I must have walked through the halls, Master. How else would I have arrived in the place you found me?"

 

"You might have been carried," Qui-Gon said.

 

"I remember -- no, I don't," Obi-Wan said. "I can't remember anything."

 

"I think the Force-sensitives here bear watching, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, his face grim and taut. "And we had best look out for one another. There's more than the overt hostility towards us displayed by the servants, I believe." He smoothed Obi-Wan's hair again, unable to help himself. "A healer will see you in the morning, Padawan, but I think you'll be all right." He brushed his fingertips over the slowly reducing bump. "You took quite a thumping, but the bacta's working already. You'll be well by midafternoon, I imagine."

 

Obi-Wan nodded, his eyelids fluttering shut. "Tired." He sat up with obvious effort. "How was your meal, Master?"

 

Qui-Gon rose and began to unfasten Obi-Wan's boots. "Enlightening, Padawan. I think that we may make some real strides with Edrei, if with no one else. She has a keen interest in Temple life and the Jedi."

 

"At least we know she didn't hit me," Obi-Wan mumbled, reaching down to assist Qui-Gon. He glanced around in puzzlement. "I'll go to my own room, Master."

 

With an upraised hand, Qui-Gon halted Obi-Wan's efforts to crawl from the bed . "Stay right there. I'm optimistic, but not foolish. I want to keep an eye on you, Padawan. The bed's big enough for two. It's big enough for eight or ten, actually." He took Obi-Wan's boots and placed them beside the bed, then strode to the fire and rekindled it, glad for an excuse to occupy himself.

 

"You're certain, Master?"

 

"Absolutely," Qui-Gon replied. "Get into bed." He busied himself with the removal of his own boots as Obi-Wan rose and stripped off his robe and belt.

 

"I hope my mishap won't upset the talks, Master." Obi-Wan's voice was soft.

 

Qui-Gon smiled. "Well, I must admit that the accusations flew when you were discovered, Obi-Wan."

 

Obi-Wan sighed. "I thought as much." He took off his outer tunic and crawled into bed. "I'm sorry about that, Master."

 

"No," Qui-Gon said, frowning. "Don't be sorry. No one said anything revealing, which was something of a disappointment. Time will tell, Obi-Wan."

 

"They were all there, Master -- both sides?"

 

"Yes." Qui-Gon unbound his hair and sat on the bed. "Both sides."

 

"How is it that the opposing party is allowed to roam freely, and I'm not?" Obi-Wan sounded annoyed.

 

Qui-Gon was taken aback; the question hadn't occurred to him. "Why, indeed?" he murmured. "Excellent observation, Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan had rolled over and was regarding Qui-Gon curiously. "Do you think that they're familiar with the Hold, Master? I thought the feud was more than a hundred years ago."

 

"I don't know. We'll find out, though," Qui-Gon promised. He touched Obi-Wan's cheek. "Sleep now, Obi-Wan."

 

Obi-Wan's eyes drifted shut. "Don't worry about me, Master...I'm fine, really."

 

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to touch Obi-Wan's mouth, his chin -- that sweetness of feature. "Sleep, Padawan," he said quietly.

 

Within a very short time, Obi-Wan's breathing became deep, regular, and even. Qui-Gon watched him, the painful clenching in his heart lessening as he was assured that his padawan was safe and well. As Obi-Wan slept, Qui-Gon dared to touch his mouth with a fingertip, feeling reverently of its pliant warmth. At last, he slept, feeling a growing ache that now had a name.

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan dried himself with a coarse towel that was nearly as large as a blanket and padded barefoot into his bedroom. He dressed slowly and attended to his hair, affixing the bead to the damp end of his braid and wringing the last few drops of moisture from it.

 

Gingerly, he touched the spot where he'd been hit. The flesh was slightly tender, but the swelling was gone and he felt no lingering dizziness or dullness. Glancing into the mirror, he saw a flush creeping from his neck.

 

He'd awakened a short time earlier to find himself enfolded in Qui-Gon's arms, his erection pressing insistently against Qui-Gon's thigh. Mortified, Obi-Wan had disentangled himself from Qui-Gon's unwitting embrace and had crept to the bath, silently pleasuring himself in the shower, kneeling upon the stone floor as the hot water had sluiced over his skin. He'd come with a whispered cry and had sat bonelessly upon the floor for a time before rising to the task of cleansing his body.

 

Now he saw the growing flush upon his cheeks and turned away, walking to the balcony doors. To his surprise, the chains had disappeared. Frowning, Obi-Wan turned the handle of the door and stepped outside, feeling the chilly morning breeze cooling the blush on his face.

 

Perhaps I imagined the chains, Obi-Wan thought, his brow creasing in growing consternation. He remembered very little of the previous night...stepping outside his room, and then nothing -- and then coming to his senses in Qui-Gon's bed, his master bending over him, his eyes worried. A rueful smile touched Obi-Wan's lips as he realized that nothing had happened in his master's bed, despite his most fervent desires.

 

The chains had been there, he decided. Someone had removed them during the night. Obi-Wan shook his head, crossing the balcony. The missing chains were of doubtful relevance, but it was clear that the Jedi were being watched. Attacked, he amended. He would have to keep a close eye on his surroundings, as Qui-Gon had cautioned him.

 

Obi-Wan looked out past the balcony, breathing of the clear, cold air. The fog had lifted, and the sky was a hard, jewel-like blue. The grasses beyond the balcony were stirred by the breeze, and the stones gleamed dully in the sunlight. Obi-Wan descended the steps of the balcony and made his way to the edge of the cliff, watching the sea, shining blue and restless in the morning light. He could just make out the hazy shoreline of the mainland -- a considerable distance away, accessible only by air or watercraft.

 

"There you are."

 

Obi-Wan turned and smiled a greeting at Qui-Gon. "Good morning, Master."

 

"Good morning, Padawan." Qui-Gon was twisting his hair into a tail. His tunic was unbelted and his feet were bare. "How are you feeling?"

 

"I'm fine, Master."

 

"Let me see." Qui-Gon examined the bump on Obi-Wan's head. "Not bad," he allowed. "A healer was to see you this morning."

 

"No one's come by -- or if they have, I was in the shower."

 

"I noticed. You left the door of the bath open, and your towel on the floor. Some lessons are never learned, I regret." Qui-Gon sighed, but his eyes crinkled in amusement.

 

Obi-Wan ducked his head in mock humility. "I am a disgrace to my training."

 

"Indeed," Qui-Gon laughed.

 

"Aren't you cold, Master?" Obi-Wan inquired, glancing at Qui-Gon's bare feet. "It's freezing out here."

 

"Nonsense. It's practically high summer this very moment -- or so I'm told."

 

Obi-Wan wrapped his cloak about himself, shivering. "It's freezing."

 

"Brisk."

 

"If you say so," Obi-Wan responded doubtfully, feeling a pang in his heart. He had thought that it was possible to live without feeling a true physical need for Qui-Gon -- Garen was usually able to alleviate most of Obi-Wan's most amorous urges -- but this morning's closeness had aroused him powerfully, and he was unable to put the image of his body pressed against Qui-Gon's long thigh out of his mind. Nor in fact did he wish to -- the image was a compelling one.

 

He risked a glance at Qui-Gon. Jedi though he was, there was enough of a simmering fire aglow in his master to draw Obi-Wan to him. There was enough warmth and affection to make Obi-Wan feel comfortable in his master's presence, yet, paradoxically, Obi-Wan was far less demonstrative in the likelihood that an unwanted touch or look would repel Qui-Gon. It was easier to yearn for Qui-Gon and believe that his master's affection was simply that and no more. Any other notions were...impractical, Obi-Wan thought.

 

Too, there was Tahl. She was attractive and intelligent, closer to Qui-Gon's age, and had a shared past with Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan would never have. If she were perfect, Obi-Wan would have felt free to be annoyed by her or to dislike her outright. But she was not, and had never given Obi-Wan any cause to dislike her. She treated Obi-Wan with a teasing affection, and Obi-Wan did his best to reciprocate. But it had been so difficult, lately....

 

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon's hands. Qui-Gon's arms were crossed, his hands grasping his upper arms. His hands were large, powerful, the knuckles slightly red; his wrists were thick, with a knot of wristbone.

 

Obi-Wan turned away. They would be separated some day; the knowledge of their parting, though years in the distance, was suddenly and intensely painful. "Master," he said, to cover the ache in his heart, "do you think the talks will resume today, in light of what has happened?"

 

"I don't see why not, Padawan. You may be sure that no one will claim responsibility for the attack." He told Obi-Wan of the previous night's altercation. "I was thinking about what you said last night -- about the opposition having free run of the Hold. How would they know their way around the place?"

 

"Perhaps they were with some of the Thanach at the time," Obi-Wan suggested.

 

"That, too, is interesting. You'll remember that they showed very little love for one another yesterday."

 

"Then again, they may have simply followed the others."

 

"True, but I have my doubts, Obi-Wan...we will watch them. And follow them, if need be, though this time I hope you will take care not to be surprised."

 

Obi-Wan bowed his head. "Yes, Master."

 

"I was worried about you."

 

Obi-Wan lifted his head, but Qui-Gon was not looking at him; his eyes were fixed upon the sea.

 

"I'm sorry about that, Master."

 

Qui-Gon turned to him and smiled, and Obi-Wan returned the smile, unable and unwilling to help himself, feeling as though he'd gained a reprieve. "All right, Padawan," Qui-Gon said. "Now my feet are freezing. Let's get inside."

 

He put his arm around Obi-Wan as they walked, and Obi-Wan realized that the love he'd borne his master in the past had grown and changed into a longing so pervasive that it flooded and penetrated his entire being. It was no longer merely sexual desire or admiration. But there was nothing to be done for it and Obi-Wan, once more folded into his master's embrace, felt a wave of soul-crushing loneliness.

 

**********

 

Umak Leth crouched beside a chair, to which a young human male -- a boy really -- was bound . The young man was unconscious, his head lolling slackly to one side, his short Padawan braid falling across his neck. At the far end of the room behind a thick sheet of transparisteel, the boy's master, a compact human female, lay senseless, bright red energy beams forming a cage around her supine form.

 

Leth checked the implant behind the boy's ear, comparing it with the readings on the monitor in her hand. She stood, nodding. "He's ready, my Lord."

 

"Good. Wake him up."

 

Leth set a hypospray against the boy's neck. The boy came to his senses slowly, then realizing his situation, snapped awake and glared at his two captors. Leth met the boy's pale-amber eyes for a moment and then walked away, seating herself behind another monitor.

 

"Who are you?" the boy demanded. "What do you want with me?" His eyes fastened upon the man who stood before him, a man of medium height, of medium age, utterly average, with pale blue eyes. "Where is my master?"

 

"Over there," the boy's captor replied, tossing a nod toward the transparisteel.

 

The boy froze, then thrashed in the chair, fighting the bonds. "What have you done to her? Let her go!"

 

"Be still."

 

Leth smiled slightly as the boy ceased his frantic struggles.

 

"What do you want?" the boy asked. A light sheen of sweat had formed on the boy's brow.

 

"Quiet, child. She won't be harmed, if you cooperate with me."

 

"If you think the Council is going to sit still for this --" The boy choked off a cry as hard fingers grasped his chin and wrenched his head back.

 

"I said, be quiet. I will free you shortly."

 

The boy stilled trembling lips, lifting his chin in defiance. "What do you want?"

 

"Calm yourself. Drink this."

 

The young Jedi sniffed suspiciously at the golden liquid. "What is it?"

 

"It's wine."

 

"You've probably drugged it."

 

"I didn't need to drug you to bring you here, did I?" The man's voice was amused. "You'll drink it," he warned, his voice hardening, "or your master will die." He held the liquid under the boy's nose.

 

The boy glared, then his shoulders sagged helplessly. "It doesn't look like I have much of a choice," he said, his voice tight, on the verge of tears. He accepted the glass that his captor held to his lips, and sipped. He sat back, his cheeks flushed, flinching when the man stroked his face.

 

"Very good. Now...pay attention to me. I want you to center yourself, boy. Use your training, and look into my eyes."

 

Blinking, the boy stared at him. "You did drug me," he mumbled. "I knew it."

 

"Look at me, Padawan. Look into my eyes."

 

"What did you give me? Let me go, pl --"

 

"Shh. Silence. Look at me, my flower."

 

Leth watched the monitor, noting changes in heartbeat, in brainwaves, in the rapid ticking motions of the boy's suddenly drowsy eyelids.

 

"Look at me, child. Look at me and tell me what you see."

 

The boy fixed sleepy eyes upon his captor's pale ones. They held each other's gaze for long moments. Then, the boy's eyes widened, and he began to scream.

 

*

 

Qui-Gon folded his hands under his chin, inspecting the angry faces of the dignitaries on either side of the long table as yet another minor point was beaten into the ground with raised voices, red faces, and heavy fists pounded upon the table's hard wooden surface. Yesterday's atmosphere of tension and hidden untruths had increased dramatically with the news of Obi-Wan's attack, and members of both parties stared bitterly at one another, their faces tight with resentment and outright anger. There had been no progress during today's meeting; every point of debate, as now, had ended in a furious quarrel.

 

Qui-Gon stifled a sigh and glanced at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan sat quietly, his face shadowed with uncertainty. Several members of both factions had insinuated that the attack had been Obi-Wan's fault, and this too had been met with heated bickering. It was unfortunate, Qui-Gon thought, that his padawan's youth was also being held against him; Obi-Wan had been ostentatiously ignored yesterday and, even today, after some cursory politeness in deference to his mishap, had been regarded as a nuisance rather than half of a team of experienced mediators.

 

Qui-Gon caught Obi-Wan's eye and smiled to reassure him. Obi-Wan smiled back a bit glumly and looked down again, thumbing through the day's agenda. It was already close to the time of adjournment and they hadn't gotten past the first three items -- Obi-Wan's injury had superseded most other discussion, though the object of the debate was treated with a conspicuous lack of cordiality.

 

Qui-Gon did sigh now. The Jedi were peacekeepers, not enforcers of good manners, and if the preferred method of settling quarrels was screaming at one another, he supposed he'd just have to adapt -- to a certain extent.

 

The fighting had once again turned to the topic of Obi-Wan's attack. Noting his padawan's pained expression, Qui-Gon picked up a small, padded mallet and struck a gong by his right hand with more force than he'd intended -- so much force that the gong tipped over, crashing to the table. The room fell silent instantly.

 

"I suggest," Qui-Gon said, in a low voice that nevertheless carried throughout the stone chamber, "that this meeting be adjourned. No one has claimed responsibility for Obi-Wan's injury. If the culprit's intentions were to bog down the talks in a series of pointless accusations, he has succeeded. I further suggest that the topic be dropped entirely." He nodded at Edrei, who flashed him a grateful smile.

 

"The boy is your apprentice, Jinn," one of the opposition party growled. "Don't you care what happens to him?"

 

"Indeed I do, but fighting about it won't help," Qui-Gon replied evenly. Both sides had baited him ceaselessly as well as fighting with one another; for a moment he wondered why the presence of the Jedi had been requested at all.

 

Varden Thanach rose to his feet. "The meeting is adjourned," he announced. "We'll reconvene tomorrow and, I hope, focus on the problems at hand."

 

The assemblage rose with a scraping of chairs and low, heated grumbling. Edrei and Ceirn Thanach were at Qui-Gon's side in moments. "I must apologize, Master Jinn," Ceirn said softly. "Our people are not displaying even the most basic of courtesies to you. I hope you won't hold that against us for long. We are not normally so...contentious. I regret that I have very little influence upon them."

 

"Don't blame yourself," Qui-Gon said. "You are young, your Highness, and it seems clear to me that there is little respect given to the young on Pralderis. In many cultures, people far younger than yourself are elevated to power and treated with respect."

 

"It has always been difficult to persuade our people that age and wisdom do not necessarily go hand in hand," Edrei said, her mouth twisted in the faintest expression of distaste. "Ceirn's ascension to the throne must be perceived as a blessed event, Qui-Gon, and not a threat to the peace of Pralderis." She glanced down, her knuckles white as she gripped the brocade of her copper-colored gown. She released it and smiled. "But enough of this -- shall we eat? I would love for you to join me for dinner again."

 

Qui-Gon smiled, glancing at Obi-Wan, who was speaking softly to Varden Thanach. "Of course. May Obi-Wan join us?"

 

Had he imagined it, or did Edrei's smile dim the least bit? "Oh, of course! You must be quite concerned for him," she said brightly. "I am sorry, Qui-Gon, that misfortune befell him in our home, and at such a delicate time."

 

"I am sure it was no accident," Qui-Gon said grimly, then saw the regret on the girl's face. "But we will persevere. It was not a serious injury. By the way -- was the healer unavailable today?"

 

The girl's face fell. "She was. Last night's birthing ended in tragedy, Qui-Gon -- both mother and child died after a long struggle. She has sent word that she will see your apprentice in the morning."

 

"I am sorry," Qui-Gon murmured as Varden and Obi-Wan joined them. "Edrei has invited us to supper, Obi-Wan. I hope you're feeling up to joining us."

 

"Of course, Master."

 

"Wonderful," Varden said, throwing an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulder and that of his brother, who leaned into his embrace. "We can all eat together. I hope that's all right with you, Master Jinn."

 

Qui-Gon inclined his head. "Certainly." He looked down, a little bemused, as Edrei took his arm, smiling up at him brilliantly. The girl had taken a most decided fancy to him, apparently. Well, he thought, it can do us no real harm.

 

Edrei stopped long enough to order supper sent to her room, and the party wended their way through the halls, Qui-Gon and Edrei in the lead, Obi-Wan, Varden, and Ceirn following behind. They took a different route than the one Qui-Gon had noted the night before. This time he marked their passage closely, hoping Obi-Wan was doing the same though he hadn't specifically instructed him to do so, observing that their route seemed to double back at least twice. As they walked, Qui-Gon felt the Force moving around them, and it was not the familiar presence of Obi-Wan's signature.

 

"Do you use the Gift often?" he inquired of Edrei.

 

Edrei colored deeply. "I need it simply to find my way about. I know you think it strange, Qui-Gon, but there are so many corridors and passageways --"

 

"And entrances and exits," Qui-Gon said.

 

"No -- not many of those," Edrei replied. "But corridors and passageways...it's easy to become lost here."

 

"I've gotten lost without an escort," Ceirn offered.

 

"I see," Qui-Gon replied. He did not. Surely, if these young people had spent their lives here, then they would have been able to find their way about -- but if it was a lie, then what purpose did it serve?

 

They arrived at Edrei's rooms, and Qui-Gon had no time to ponder the question further. Their meal arrived in moments, and they ate, talking pleasantly of the history of Pralderis. Ceirn in particular was well-versed in the lore of his planet, and provided some insight into the great clan wars that had split the family into rival factions.

 

"While peace has prevailed for more than a hundred years, apparently anger and resentment still burns in the hearts of some of our people," Ceirn said, spearing a bit of meat on a long fork. "The Gift has died out among them, and that resentment, I fear, is at the core of their hatred."

 

"Perhaps they want retraining," Qui-Gon said. "The Force -- the Gift is within all of us, though more strongly in some than in others."

 

"I felt its presence very strongly during the meeting today," Obi-Wan ventured. "Perhaps it's only dormant, and as Qui-Gon says, those who fear they have lost its presence need retraining."

 

"Training?" Varden asked. "You can't train people to have the Gift. Either one has it, or one doesn't."

 

"Yes, but there are ways in which someone who is strong in the Force can be taught to wield it in a precise fashion," Obi-Wan said. "That is one of the chief aims of the Jedi Order -- we are instructed in the ways of the Force so that we may better aid those who are in need."

 

Varden's gaze was a little cold. "They get you young, don't they?"

 

Obi-Wan flushed. "I did not mean to --"

 

"Quiet, Varden," Edrei chided, though she flashed him a smile. "Forgive him, Obi-Wan -- he's always been cantankerous and suspicious. He's never even been off Pralderis. Tell me more about your training."

 

Qui-Gon watched the young people silently as he ate. Obi-Wan was speaking enthusiastically of Temple life, and both Ceirn and Edrei listened with intent eagerness. Edrei stole frequent glances at Qui-Gon, blushing at the times he allowed himself to make eye contact with her. Varden listened, but with a distinct expression of discontent upon his lean, pale face.

 

At last Varden pushed his chair back, excusing himself and ringing a bell for an escort. "I don't care to be murdered on the way back to my own room," he said, tugging at the hem of his tunic.

 

Ceirn looked worried. "Varden -- don't say such things."

 

"Why not? It's true -- even the Jedi are in danger." Varden's voice sneered a little at the title. "I could be hit on the head too." He opened the door at a soft knock and bowed shortly. "Good evening."

 

Edrei shook her head as the door closed behind him. "He is a puzzlement." She rose and went to a cabinet, taking out a squat bottle and pouring a golden liquid into a small glass. She extended the glass to Qui-Gon. "Try this, Qui-Gon -- it's only found on Pralderis."

 

Qui-Gon accepted the glass from her outstretched hand. "Thank you," he said. "But I've had enough for the evening. Perhaps you'd like to taste some, Padawan?" He noted the girl's dismay with a slight twinge of amusement as he extended the glass to Obi-Wan. He hoped she hadn't been attempting to get him drunk....

 

Obi-Wan took the glass and sipped at the liquid. "It has no taste," he remarked.

 

Edrei and Ceirn exchanged a glance. "It does -- it's very faint, though," Edrei said.

 

Obi-Wan nodded diplomatically. "Thank you."

 

Qui-Gon rose to his feet. "We should retire."

 

Edrei pulled the bell. "Sleep well. I'll see that the healer visits you in the morning, Obi-Wan."

 

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said.

 

The escorts came, and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan stepped into the corridor.

 

**********

 

Ceirn rounded on Edrei. "Why did you give him that?"

 

"It was meant for Qui-Gon," Edrei replied, flinging herself into a chair, still holding the bottle.

 

"You'll tip your hand, Edrei."

 

"I won't," she said flatly, with an air of finality. "Ceirn -- follow them. I know they must be telling the truth about their powers, but I must be certain. Follow them, I beg you."

 

"Why don't you follow them?" Ceirn asked, his voice childish, petulant.

 

"Please, Ceirn -- if you love me -- do it." They gazed at one another, light brown eyes meeting dark ones.

 

"If he has no visions --"

 

"Then he's useless. I wanted Qui-Gon --"

 

"That's obvious," Ceirn said with a twisted smile.

 

"-- for the Thanach," she said, her eyes hard. "Go, Ceirn."

 

Ceirn stared at her, then turned and left, his soft-soled boots making no sound as he slipped out the door.

 

Edrei sat back in her chair and took a long pull from the bottle. Setting it on the floor, she waited for revelation for long moments, willing one in particular to take shape -- a tall man with eyes bluer than the sea, virile, beautiful, and strong in the Gift.

 

She smiled as her vision swam, and her deepest desires came to hazy, illusory fruition.

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan nodded stiffly to the guards who stared at him, stone-faced, as he opened the door to his room. He closed the door and shook his head, stripping off his robe and tossing it upon the bench at the foot of his bed.

 

There was a scraping noise from outside, and a series of metallic clicks. Frowning, Obi-Wan crossed to the door and tried the handle. By the Force -- they'd locked him inside!

 

Annoyed, Obi-Wan went swiftly to the balcony doors, finding them unsecured. Well, if this is their method of keeping me safe from harm -- or keeping me locked in, it's an ill-conceived one, he thought, going back to the door and placing his palms against it, then trying the handle again. It didn't move.

 

Have they locked Qui-Gon in as well? he wondered. He knocked on the door to the bath and received no response. Cautiously, he opened the door; the room was dark and empty. He activated the suspensor globes and stepped into the bath, the sound of his footsteps unnaturally loud on the stone floor.

 

He tapped on the door to Qui-Gon's room. "Master?"

 

Qui-Gon opened the door, his tunic loosened, his hair unbound. "Is something wrong, Padawan?"

 

Obi-Wan shook his head, unsuccessfully banishing the image of Qui-Gon's hair spread over a pillow. "No, Master...actually, there is. The guards have locked my door from the outside. I wondered if they'd locked yours as well."

 

Qui-Gon scowled. "Is that their idea of protection?" He turned, walking toward his own door.

 

"That was my thought also, Master."

 

Qui-Gon turned the handle, and the door swung open with a groan. He looked out into the darkened corridor, then closed the door, shaking his head. "No one's out there."

 

"My room is connected to yours. Why would they lock me in, if I have another exit?"

 

"I'm sorry about this, Padawan," Qui-Gon sighed. "It appears that they think you need to be taught a lesson -- or they're trying to intimidate you."

 

Obi-Wan felt a brief flare of wounded pride. "I didn't ask to be hit on the head."

 

Qui-Gon chuckled. "That's quite an image. No, I know you didn't, Obi-Wan. Have patience; it's a token gesture, but there's no real harm done, and if you should need to leave your room, you can leave through mine."

 

"They didn't lock the balcony doors, either," Obi-Wan grumbled.

 

Qui-Gon smiled. "Would you rather they had?"

 

Obi-Wan returned the smile grudgingly. "No. But I don't like all this, Master." He turned, and a wave of dizziness made him blink. "Armed escorts, locking us in, their palpable hostility," he continued, shaking off the dizziness -- too much to drink, he thought. "If they dislike our presence so much, why didn't they arrange for us to stay outside the Hold?"

 

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I don't know, but it's better that we're here." He leaned down and unfastened his boots, kicking them to one side. "I have a task for you, Obi-Wan. Yesterday and today I sensed that one or more members of the two factions are lying."

 

"This surprises you, Master?" Obi-Wan asked, his tone not a little acerbic.

 

Qui-Gon tilted his head to one side as though he hadn't quite heard Obi-Wan correctly. "I want you to tell me who it is tomorrow. That should provide some needed focus."

 

Obi-Wan sighed, and started for the door. "Yes, Master."

 

"Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan turned. "Yes, Master?"

 

They locked gazes for a moment, and Obi-Wan's heart ached.

 

Qui-Gon smiled, his eyes warm. "Sleep well, Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan felt a momentary tightness in his throat. "Thank you, Master -- and the same to you." He went through the bath, into his room.

 

The room was chill and drafty. Obi-Wan went to the dying fire, kindling it until it blazed to comforting life. He warmed his front, then his back, grateful for the fire's crackling heat.

 

He crossed the room, eager to crawl into bed and sleep -- he was uncommonly tired. As he neared the bed, another wave of dizziness struck him. He steadied himself and removed his belt and tunics, then his boots and socks, wincing at the cold metal floor, blinking hard as his vision wavered before him.

 

Metal?

 

Glancing at the floor, he shook his head. He must have been more tired than he'd thought; for a moment the floor had looked and felt like smooth metal rather than stone.

 

Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes, then frowned. This island had no aircraft that he had seen, and the watercrafts were fairly simple in design, but he swore he smelled the sharp odors of fuel and afterburners.

 

He turned to the bath, and stumbled back in shock. The heavy wooden door was gone; in its place was an open portal of shining metal barred by red energy beams. Alarmed, he turned to the bench where he'd placed his belt and tunics, but it too was gone, and his things with it. He was in a vast room of shining, dark metal, lights winking all around him, from the floor to the high-flung, soaring ceiling that seemed to be kilometers away.

 

Disoriented and confused, yet not truly frightened, Obi-Wan reached for his calm center and grasped it tightly. I'm dreaming, he assured himself. This is not real. He dropped into a crouch and touched the floor, expecting to feel stone, and instead felt the smoothness of duristeel. His serenity wavered ever so slightly. It is an extraordinarily vivid dream, he thought. I can change things, though. Dreams were often malleable, and --

 

A distant, familiar humming, and a dissonant clash of weapons invaded his efforts at calm. He ran to the laser barrier, seeing, as from a great distance, the form of his master, locked in combat with a dark-robed figure moving almost too fast for Obi-Wan to see. The sensation of Darkness was suffocating, an aura so powerful and ominous that it drove Obi-Wan back a step.

 

It's not real, he told himself. A nightmare --

 

He saw Qui-Gon feint a blow and stagger. Even from this great distance, he saw the weariness that permeated his master's body. Obi-Wan looked around wildly, searching for his lightsaber. Dream or not, Qui-Gon needed his help. Hold on, Master, he thought. I'll help you --

 

His saber was gone. That's impossible, his mind gibbered frantically. I just had it a moment ago. Frustrated, he looked for a control panel that would disable the energy field. There was none; he was trapped behind the wall. If he touched the beams, they would at the very least knock him unconscious; at worst, their pulsing red bars would kill him.

 

Obi-Wan felt a cold trickle of fear. His lightsaber was gone, he was trapped, and his master was tiring against his Dark foe. Helpless, he could only watch as Qui-Gon battled the grim specter, matching blow for blow, but slowly, surely, weakening beneath the being's relentless assault.

 

Obi-Wan felt as though he were drowning, yet he could not take his eyes from the clash, as though ceasing to watch would somehow bring harm to his master. He could not control his fear, could not let it rise and dissolve. This is no nightmare, he thought. This is real, this is happening -- what am I to do? How can I --

 

The being struck Qui-Gon, then thrust its saber into Qui-Gon's chest. His master's face contracted in shock and agony, and he crumpled to the floor.

 

**********

 

A tortured, anguished howl tore Qui-Gon from a sound sleep. He flung the covers off and raced to the bath, throwing the door open to find Obi-Wan standing frozen in the doorway between the bath and his own room, his face white, his argent eyes wide with terror.

 

"Obi-Wan -- Obi-Wan, what is it?" He stepped forward, taking Obi-Wan by the shoulders, alarmed at the fear in his padawan's eyes. "Obi-Wan -- speak to me, Padawan -- what's wrong?"

 

"No --" Obi-Wan clawed blindly at Qui-Gon, writhing to escape Qui-Gon's grasp.

 

Qui-Gon had to duck to escape a hard blow to his face. He pinned Obi-Wan's arms to his side, but Obi-Wan managed to twist free, and backed against the wall, his eyes wild. Qui-Gon moved forward swiftly, locking his arms around his apprentice and hooking a leg around one of Obi-Wan's, dragging him to the floor. "Padawan," he said calmly, though his heart was pounding madly, "Padawan, what is it?"

 

"Master," Obi-Wan gasped, still struggling for freedom. "Master --"

 

"I'm here, Obi-Wan. I'm here," Qui-Gon said, at a loss, just able to subdue Obi-Wan's struggling by forcing him flat and covering him with his own body.

 

Obi-Wan's eyes seemed to clear, and he stared, confused, into Qui-Gon's eyes. "Master." He looked around in bewilderment. "Master -- you're alive."

 

It clearly wasn't the time for levity. "Yes," Qui-Gon said quietly. "What caused you to think otherwise, Obi-Wan?"

 

"I must have been dreaming," Obi-Wan murmured.

 

"It must have seemed very real to you," Qui-Gon observed.

 

"I dreamt you died," Obi-Wan said. He stared into Qui-Gon's eyes. "The floor was metal --" He frowned. "There was someone else fighting you, Master." All at once he seemed aware that Qui-Gon was lying atop him, bare skin to bare skin. "I'm all right now, Master," he said, averting his eyes from Qui-Gon's.

 

Qui-Gon rose, attempting to ignore the decidedly inappropriate beginnings of an erection at the sensation of Obi-Wan's body pressed so intimately against his own. He sat on the floor, pushing his hair behind his ears. Obi-Wan sat up, looking dazed, his face flushed from embarrassment. "Tell me about the dream, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said.

 

Obi-Wan shuddered visibly, then straightened, rising to his feet and moving to the door. "Forgive me, Master -- I'd rather not. I should not have allowed myself to be overcome with fear, even in slumber. It will pass."

 

Qui-Gon noted his padawan's trembling hands and sighed, getting to his own feet. There were times when he felt he truly didn't understand Obi-Wan, and this was such a time. "Fear is only detrimental when you cannot control it, Padawan. It's no shame to feel fear."

 

"And it --" Obi-Wan stopped and was silent.

 

Qui-Gon frowned. "What is it?"

 

Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon. "I wasn't in my bed." He looked lost and bewildered.

 

"I want you to see the healer," Qui-Gon said, going to the bell pull and giving it a sharp tug. "I was wrong in not insisting that you see someone immediately."

 

"There wasn't anyone available," Obi-Wan murmured.

 

"I wonder about that."

 

"Truly, I feel fine, Master," Obi-Wan said. "If you call the healer, it may delay the talks again. Isn't it better to let the incident die?"

 

"Not if you're really injured," Qui-Gon replied firmly. "Sit down, Padawan."

 

"Master, I insist that you let this be."

 

Qui-Gon folded his arms over his chest. "You insist?"

 

Obi-Wan flushed, but held Qui-Gon's gaze. "I would know if I were injured, Master. Please, I -- I ask that you not escalate this. It will do us no good." He looked around doubtfully. "I'd like to leave this place -- the sooner, the better."

 

Qui-Gon stepped closer to Obi-Wan and lay a hand on his shoulder, willing himself not to caress that smooth, bare skin. "Why do you say that, Padawan?"

 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly. "I don't know -- it's a feeling -- a foreboding..."

 

"Let us concentrate on the mission," Qui-Gon said softly. "Keep your mind on the here and now, Obi-Wan."

 

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan nodded, then looked up into Qui-Gon's eyes. "Master...I will. But I feared for you, feared that you were --"

 

"I am well, Obi-Wan. Dreams aren't to be trusted, my padawan -- you know that well enough."

 

"I know it, Master." Their bodies were close enough to graze against one another; Qui-Gon felt his padawan's radiant heat beneath his hand. "I know...but the very thought of it...had you been lost..."

 

Qui-Gon felt a swelling of pain so profound it nearly took his breath from his body. An entire year spent in fantasy, even after repeated bruising attacks of reality -- Tahl, Garen, the cool distance Obi-Wan and even he himself placed between them -- why, after so much time, could he not simply surrender his fantasies and accept what must be? Why did the very sight of Obi-Wan fill him with yearning, why could he not appease the fiercest longings of his heart and the mad, churning desires of his body -- the darkest parts of him that whispered softly at night, that conjured Obi-Wan's face and form when he lay with Tahl?

 

In a gesture calculated to seem casual, Qui-Gon's hand touched Obi-Wan's cheek and, despite Qui-Gon's better judgement, lingered. "Obi-Wan --"

 

At a sharp rapping that resounded throughout the room, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan tore away from each other. Obi-Wan strode to the door, waiting until the rattling of locks and chains ceased. He opened the door to admit an armed and very surly guard.

 

"You summoned me," the guard said.

 

"Never mind," Obi-Wan snapped, brushing his hand in an impatient, dismissive gesture. "We don't need anything."

 

Qui-Gon turned to the door of the bath as the guard stormed out. "You're certain you don't need a healer, Obi-Wan?"

 

"Quite certain, Master," Obi-Wan replied. "Thank you all the same."

 

"If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to wake me," Qui-Gon said, meeting Obi-Wan's eyes.

 

Obi-Wan dropped his gaze. "Yes, Master. Good night."

 

Qui-Gon stepped into the bath and shut the door. He ran the shower and stepped under the stinging hot spray, stroking himself to a hasty and necessary orgasm. He collapsed against the stone wall, water streaming into his eyes, silently mouthing Obi-Wan's name.

 

**********

 

Pushing back the hair that had escaped from his long tail, Ceirn wriggled to the spyhole above Obi-Wan's bedroom, smiling in delight as the Jedi stripped naked and knelt before the fire. He watched, his prick hardening, as Obi-Wan manipulated himself to rampant hardness, small, choked cries issuing from his lips. He let his eyes wander freely over Obi-Wan's body, admiring the grace and strength of the Jedi's form.

 

So they wanted one another, Ceirn thought, his gaze lingering extravagantly over Obi-Wan's sweet, rounded backside that tightened in the throes of his solitary ecstasy. What a pair of fools. Edrei would be upset...but that might work to his advantage. He silently thanked his sister for sending him on this errand.

 

He watched Obi-Wan climax, that lovely body arching in the firelight.

 

Ceirn put his own hand to his prick, clamping the other over his mouth to smother any noise.

 

*

 

Obi-Wan stood barefoot upon the rough flagstones of the balcony watching the pale sun creeping above the horizon. Beyond the cliffs, the light was cast upon the sea like a multitude of luminous gems.

 

He shivered in the dawn's chill, and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, searching for serenity, preparing for the slow, graceful stretches that would mark his morning. His breathing slowed, and he clasped his hands together, feeling his blood and the Force singing in his body.

 

He opened his eyes, feeling a tremor of remembrance.

 

The dream he'd had would not pass into the dim corridors of his memory; it lingered, hovering at the brink of his consciousness. In his mind's eye he saw his master falling to the ground as a saber of brilliant red was plunged into his chest.

 

Certainly he'd had nightmares before, but the potency of this dream was unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and unwelcome. It was so strange -- Qui-Gon had faced danger and death innumerable times, and from foes that Obi-Wan would have sworn were very nearly invincible, but he had prevailed in a testament to courage, strength, and skill.

 

Obi-Wan himself had always relied upon those very same qualities, had always trusted Qui-Gon and, he realized now, had loved him with a pure, unquestioning simplicity that was almost staggering in its naive innocence. He had never pondered life without his master, had never contemplated that one morning he might arise and Qui-Gon would not be there.

 

The fact of Qui-Gon's mortality pierced him to the core and, though he remained outwardly calm, his heart pounded with a peculiar urgency as he looked upon the grassy stretch that led to the sheer cliffs. A sudden, irrational terror struck him, one that hadn't occurred before. If he dies -- or I die -- before I've had a chance to tell him how I feel...if that happens, then I will be half of what I am now. Then he frowned, remonstrating himself, brutally suppressing the impulse to run to Qui-Gon's room to make sure that his master still lived and breathed.

 

Last night, he thought. Last night, with his body pressed to mine, I could have been his lover. He touched my face, my mouth, my shoulders, and had he not risen, my body would have betrayed me. If I could embrace him, just once -- if I could step up to him and place my body close to his, my arms around him --

 

The harsh cawing of a bird intruded upon his thoughts and the morning's stillness. He tried to center himself again, but peace was elusive, slipping through his grasping fingers like water. He felt a profound discomfort and unease, and a slow, insidious ripple of Darkness brushed against his senses, soft and murmuring, receding when he attempted to identify its source, yet resonating like a bell that had been struck and vibrated still.

 

We are in danger here, he thought, looking out at the thin, gold-colored sunlight, the bleak sweep of grasses and stones, the grey, sparkling sea. His dream was somehow connected to this place, to this time -- how or why he felt that he could not say. He longed to tell Qui-Gon of his trepidation, but his master would dismiss his anxieties. He would be kind -- Qui-Gon admonished gently, and not without imparting some wisdom -- but he would dismiss Obi-Wan just the same. It was frustrating; if Obi-Wan's ephemeral grasp of the future was his flaw, then surely Qui-Gon's stubborn refusal to acknowledge portents was his.

 

Obi-Wan drew a sigh and began his morning stretches. He would do as Qui-Gon bid him and not focus upon the intangible; but he would be watchful and alert. And if Qui-Gon's life was at stake...well, love bested obedience, and always would.

 

The stretches led into a kata, as graceful and lovely as any dance. Each movement became a silent oration, eloquent of emotion though he was scarcely aware of it. Obi-Wan's arms arced slowly, sweeping overhead like birds' wings, the curvature of his hands expressing sad yearning. He skimmed the cold flagstones, then balanced on his toes, then the balls of his feet, then his heels, then up again, no longer bound to the chill stone as he soared through the air. The very lines of his body revealed devotion, grace, and dignity, and as he settled into the final form, the fold of his arms and his bowed head would have shown quite plainly -- had anyone witnessed them -- that Obi-Wan was a young man very much possessed by desire and love.

 

**********

 

There was a distinct irony, Qui-Gon reflected, in telling his padawan to ignore his dreams when his own set his heart to violent pounding.

 

Sweeping the blankets aside in a single motion, Qui-Gon arose and strode to the door of the bath. He knocked, and opened the door when there was no answer. The bath was empty.

 

He hesitated before tapping upon the door to Obi-Wan's bedchamber. Last night's ordeal had caused Obi-Wan no small anxiety; Qui-Gon had witnessed it in the set of Obi-Wan's mouth, the tautness in his compact frame, the fear in his lucent eyes. He should let Obi-Wan sleep until it was necessary to join the others. Besides, simply because he had had another nightmare was no reason to disturb Obi-Wan with it; Obi-Wan's kindness to him on the ship should have sustained Qui-Gon when he confessed his own troubling dreams. That Qui-Gon sought further comfort was human, perhaps, but hardly becoming.

 

But he would just check on Obi-Wan, and reassure himself that all was well.

 

He tapped on the door. Hearing no response, he swung the door open to see an empty bed, the covers disarrayed. His heart clenched, inexplicably, painfully for a moment before he saw a burst of movement on the balcony.

 

Obi-Wan was performing a kata; Qui-Gon could all but see the intensity of focus radiating from his padawan. Every motion was seamless, one form blending into another with ease and surety. There was a flash of elevation, Obi-Wan's limbs arcing fluidly, and then he drifted to the stones with the grace and softness of floating feathers, as though the air was reluctant to release him.

 

Qui-Gon watched his padawan, transfixed by his strength and beauty, feeling as though he'd spied a glimpse into Obi-Wan's extraordinary and beautiful heart. Obi-Wan's back was turned to him, but the lines of his body were fluent in an unspoken language that Qui-Gon felt he'd known all his life. He wanted to rush to Obi-Wan and clasp him in his arms, to traverse the smooth muscles of Obi-Wan's limbs with his mouth, to explore every intimate plane and curve of Obi-Wan's body.

 

Unbidden, the image of Garen arose in his mind. Garen was pleasant, intelligent, attractive, and witty, and Obi-Wan clearly relished his company. Qui-Gon liked Garen and had been pleased to see him in such an effortless, loving relationship with his padawan -- or so he had thought until some months ago. Lately, he'd taken to leaving Garen and Obi-Wan abruptly, if politely, rationalizing that the two had few enough opportunities for privacy without Obi-Wan's master underfoot.

 

It hadn't occurred to Qui-Gon until recently that he was jealous; he would have scoffed at the idea. But now, the notion seemed altogether too uncomfortably close to the truth.

 

Again, he thought of Tahl. He did love her, and it was easy to desire her feminine softness and strength. She loved him, too; she was ferociously intelligent -- far more than he -- and possessed of a biting humor that for all its astringent vigor was never bitter, despite the misfortune of blindness she'd suffered. She was a generous and skilled lover as well, and knew his moods and the vagaries of his personality; they'd been agemates and friends before they'd been lovers. And he loved her; it was easy to love her.

 

But his feelings for her, somehow, had never approached the overwhelming intensity of his yearning for Obi-Wan. There were moments when Obi-Wan looked at him that nearly hurt him. Obi-Wan had not quite mastered the art of the Jedi mask, that implacable, serene neutrality. His face was expressive, whether it was set in an expression of grim, stoic concentration, bewilderment, irritation, or -- most charming of all -- the winsome and lavish smile that Obi-Wan bestowed upon him like a gift. Recently, Qui-Gon had been hard-pressed to stop himself from staring at Obi-Wan's mouth, from wanting to discover its hidden bounties.

 

Qui-Gon sighed, watching the lithe elegance of Obi-Wan's body. He wanted to join him, wanted no more than to perform the kata with him, to take part in the smooth movements of the exercise and luxuriate in the joy of simply being near him -- but Obi-Wan was so beautiful in his solitude, his movements so poetic and perfect that he dared not disturb him.

 

He turned away, heading back to his room to dress.

 

**********

 

Umak Leth never permitted herself to feel fear; even now, she was too much a Jedi to allow her feelings to control her. Still, a whisper of apprehension tickled at the base of her spine as, clutching the small, wilted plants in her hand, she made her way to the dark suite of rooms where her master waited.

 

Fear had never been Umak's principal flaw as a padawan -- according to Raiha Hahlden, her master -- nor had anger, nor impatience, nor passions of the flesh, nor any of the hundred thousand dangers against which the Jedi shielded themselves. Umak's greatest failing had been excessive curiosity, the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge's sake.

 

They had praised her at first, hailing each success, each discovery with generous accolades. She had been encouraged to spend days and nights in research and study. Her teachers had been first amused by her insatiable curiosity, then astounded as she'd excelled in every scientific field; her accomplishments -- a vaporator that gathered five liters of water per day from even the driest climate, a repulsorlift pack that weighed only three kilograms, a portable bacta containment and replenishing unit -- all had been greeted with extravagant praise. Their astonishment had slowly transmuted into envy as she had surpassed them all with stunning speed. The Council had chided her once or twice, but gently; they'd cautioned her against losing sight of her vow to protect the innocent and the helpless; she'd concurred readily enough, and had thrown herself into producing inventions and improvements that aided the Jedi on their missions and, consequently, the helpless it was their lot to assist. Her master and the Council had been appropriately grateful.

 

She'd been Knighted, and life had settled into an exciting routine of research and discovery. Each day was a joy -- until the day she'd been summoned before the Council and ordered to undertake a mission -- a petty brawl on a backwater planet. She'd protested, begging them to allow her to continue her work at the Temple. She was a great deal more useful there, she'd said, than swinging her saber in the midst of some foolish and galactically insignificant war. The Council had informed her, sternly and in no uncertain terms, that her funding had been terminated, and she was to do what she had been ordered to do. Seething, she'd obeyed, but while on the transport to the planet, she'd encountered an executive from Biotech to whom she sold the designs for a number of inventions, ensuring funding for uninterrupted research for at least ten standard years.

 

When the Council had discovered what she'd done, their censure had been harsh. There were whispers that she would be expelled from the Order, rumors -- false rumors -- that she had been performing experiments of a distinctly sinister ilk involving sentient beings. Her laboratory had been dismantled; she'd stared silently, her heart aching, as stone-faced Temple guards had removed years of painstaking work. Reeling with grief, she'd gone to a remote Temple garden to meditate, to regain some measure of peace.

 

It was in that garden that she'd met her destiny.

 

How the man had gotten past the Temple guards she couldn't fathom, yet there he was, his eyes kind, sympathetic. He had been dressed in the robes of the Order, and he spoke to her softly, offering words of comfort, of wisdom.

 

"All I want is to learn," she'd said in a muted voice. "How is that wrong?"

 

"They fear you," he'd said. "They fear your strength and your brilliance, and they will not trust you. They deride your focus and pride themselves on their ruthless exigency. If you cannot conform to their inflexible and archaic standards, you will be shunned. But imagine a place, Knight Leth, where you are free to pursue your work to your heart's content, limited only by your own mind. Imagine unlimited funding, your own assistants, an entire laboratory at your disposal."

 

"Yes," she breathed. Then her face fell. "But the Council would not permit it. The Jedi --"

 

"I was not speaking of the Jedi, my rebellious young knight." His voice was very soft.

 

She looked up at him. "Who are you?" she whispered, feeling as though a chilly hand had trailed its way down her back.

 

"There are greater challenges, Leth, for one who would be bold enough to accept them." The man -- he was not Jedi, she knew that now -- had held out a hand. When she had hesitated, his voice had dropped with coldness. "I won't ask twice, young Jedi. I regret that you haven't the courage to embrace your own destiny."

 

Umak had looked up into his face, and it was as though a sheath of ice had wrapped itself about her heart. Nevertheless, she had taken his outstretched hand.

 

He'd smiled, pleased. "Come with me, young Jedi. Come with me, and I'll put the wonders of the galaxy in your hands."

 

Umak put the memory behind her, seeing with no real surprise that the doors to the apartment had swung open. She stepped inside the room, illuminated only by the sparkling cityscape. The doors closed slowly behind her.

 

He stood at the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

 

Umak waited patiently. It was some time until he spoke.

 

"They're dead, aren't they?"

 

She hesitated. "My Lord --"

 

"Save your breath, Umak. You assured me that you had achieved optimal conditions for the flowers' growth."

 

"I had, my Lord. The flowers were in native soil, in similar light. There was no --"

 

"Enough. I think a common Agri-Corps botanist might have done a better job."

 

"By all means, my Lord. If you think that a botanist would be a wiser choice, then it's not my place to advise you upon a different course of action."

 

He turned slowly, his face betraying no emotion. "Govern your tongue, Leth. I respect you too much to threaten you."

 

She bowed her head in silent apology.

 

"We must go back to Pralderis, Umak."

 

"My Lord," Umak began, "the visions you have seen -- I've no right to speak to you so, but you must not rely upon them. The thought of them makes me uneasy. Too, there may be residual effects as yet undiscovered. They will only --"

 

"Be silent, Umak. I will not deny myself. Arrange for our transport."

 

"That girl will hinder our efforts."

 

"I'll see to it that she doesn't."

 

"What of the Jedi that you have, my Lord?" Umak asked. "Have they proved themselves?"

 

"The boy was a simple matter," he said. "The master...the master is proving to be a more difficult subject. But all things in good time, Umak."

 

"My Lord," Umak said, feeling a strange discomfort, "you cannot harness the Force in this way."

 

He smiled at her. "Umak...I can do whatever I wish." He stepped a few places closer to her, extending a hand.

 

Reluctantly, Umak placed the wilted flower in his hand, feeling a prickle of foreboding, and another of -- inexplicably -- conscience.

 

**********

 

"You're in splendid physical condition, Obi-Wan Kenobi," Fian Thanach announced, closing her bag. "There is no lingering damage from the blow to your head."

 

"My padawan had a rather frightening experience last night," Qui-Gon said. "He experienced a sort of waking dream, and his resulting physical reaction was unlike him. I am concerned that it had something to do with the attack. I don't mean to disparage your equipment, but I want him to receive the best care possible. Have you a center for healing nearby?"

 

The healer shook her head. "You're looking at it, Master Jinn. You'd need to go off-planet to get him to bioscanners. What do you mean by waking dream?"

 

"I'm fine, Master," Obi-Wan said quietly, suppressing a sigh when Qui-Gon gave him a characteristic stern glance.

 

"Obi-Wan is not generally given to somnambulism," Qui-Gon stated.

 

The healer looked at him for a moment, her weathered face settling into deeper creases. Then, her eyes dropped, and she made an unnecessary adjustment to the fastenings of her bag. "You have the Gift," she murmured.

 

"Yes," Qui-Gon said with a touch of impatience. "What has that to do with the dream?"

 

Fian Thanach ignored the question, addressing Obi-Wan. "Do you use hallucinogenic or psychotropic substances, young Jedi?"

 

"Certainly not," Obi-Wan replied indignantly.

 

"Did you drink liquor last night?"

 

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes -- some wine, and that drink you didn't want, Master," he said to Qui-Gon. "Actually, it was more than I usually drink -- that may have been the source of the problem."

 

Thanach smiled. "Feeling any aftereffects this morning?"

 

Obi-Wan grinned. "No."

 

"Well, that's not so bad, is it. Ceirn's feasting starts tomorrow -- you'd best develop a taste for our ales and wines." She seemed about to say something else, then changed her mind. "If it should happen again, tell them to send for me or my apprentice."

 

Qui-Gon folded his arms. "I was under the impression that you were the only healer on the island."

 

"Maerin has been on the mainland for some weeks now, but I anticipate his return this evening." She raised the hood of her blue woolen robe. "Listen to me, Jedi. You are --" She stopped abruptly as the door banged open, and a soldier strode into the chamber.

 

"They're waiting," the soldier said.

 

Qui-Gon inclined his head graciously. Obi-Wan stifled his irritation, even as he admired his master's composure. The soldier's sneering contempt was palpable. Another day of being derided and ignored lay ahead; he wasn't looking forward to it with eager anticipation, to be sure.

 

"We'll join the others in a moment," Qui-Gon said pleasantly. "Please continue, Healer Thanach."

 

Fian Thanach shook her head and turned to Obi-Wan. "Watch what you drink, lad. If it happens again, have them find me."

 

"Have you a comm unit?" Obi-Wan asked.

 

The healer smiled humorlessly. "Comm unit? This isn't Coruscant, young Jedi." She left the room in measured strides, ignoring the soldier who stood sentry at the door.

 

Obi-Wan stared after her in bemusement.

 

Qui-Gon's hand descended upon his shoulder. "Ready, Padawan?"

 

Obi-Wan rose, stepping closer to Qui-Gon and looking up into those deep eyes, remembering the look of shock and pain in them as Qui-Gon crumpled to the floor. Only a dream, he assured himself. I will not fear. There is no death; there is the Force. We are luminous beings...

 

Those words should have brought comfort and peace to him; instead, they filled him with a desperate sense of urgency as he and Qui-Gon looked at one another, their gazes firm.

 

He has Tahl, Obi-Wan reminded himself.

 

There was a tightness in his throat; nonetheless, Obi-Wan smiled into Qui-Gon's eyes. "Yes, Master."

 

**********

 

Edrei did not consider herself a vindictive individual; still, she smiled, observing the increasing dismay on Obi-Wan's face as his quiet and carefully chosen suggestions were beaten into the ground once again.

 

She was immensely satisfied. She had been angry at first -- disappointed that only two Jedi had arrived, when she had hoped for many more from which to choose. Finding the proper host for the sustenance of the Thanach was daunting; everyone had opposed her, and had expressed anger and outrage, but reason had won in the end.

 

And it seemed that the Jedi -- one of them, at least -- was susceptible to the effects of thieris blossoms, after all. Though Obi-Wan was not her first choice for a test subject -- indeed no, she thought with a sympathetic smile at Qui-Gon, who smiled wryly back.

 

The two were not lovers; Edrei had feared that at first, and Ceirn's tale-carrying had made her a trifle uneasy, but if they truly wanted one another, they certainly would have done something about it by now. She felt a surge of irritation, examining Obi-Wan's face, his earnest eyes. He was an obstacle, but not an intimidating one. Ceirn and Varden would see to that.

 

She felt a sweep of benevolence, looking at her family gathered around her. Everyone was playing their parts beautifully; there was enough natural hostility and anger among the delegates to create a true feeling of dissent. The Jedi were baffled, unable to discern truth from falsehood. A little more time, she reasoned, and perhaps she would not need to resort to violence.

 

Sarran, her handmaiden, plucked unobtrusively at her sleeve.

 

Edrei turned, frowning. "What is it?"

 

"Your pardon, Highness," Sarran murmured, then bent to whisper in Edrei's ear. Edrei's eyes widened, and she rose, waving vaguely at those around her who stood.

 

"Forgive me," she said. "I must leave for a time; I may not return for the rest of our session. Before I go, though, I would like to remind you all that the feasting in honor of Ceirn's majority begins with the full moon tomorrow, and will take place as scheduled. Thanach Hold will be open to our subjects so that all may join us in celebration."

 

There was a discontented grumbling at this. Edrei heard mutterings of safety and assassinations, of plots and treachery of all kinds.

 

Edrei turned to Ceirn, taking his hand in hers and returning his smile. "We are of one heart and mind, my people -- whatever our differences may be now, I firmly believe that. We will celebrate, and all are welcome. It is a gesture of peace, a hope for a united Pralderis."

 

She released Ceirn's hand, pushed her chair back, and walked quickly from the room. As she closed the door, she heard Qui-Gon's voice, and a small shiver coursed deliciously up her spine.

 

Edrei moved swiftly through the halls, unescorted, through narrow corridors and dim passageways. She came to a small, locked door, extracted a key from her pocket, and opened it.

 

She made her way through without light; there was no need. She knew this twisting passage as well as she knew her own name. Ceirn and Varden never accompanied her here; it was just as well, she thought.

 

She came to two doors, hesitated before one, and chose the other.

 

There was a soft blue glow in the room illuminating the banks of a comm unit. Edrei walked to the hologram and bowed perfunctorily, then straightened. "I was in council," she said.

 

The man facing her smiled. "My apologies, my dear. I only wished to know what progress you have made with the Jedi."

 

"It's only been three days. I don't want to startle them. It isn't as though I had many choices."

 

"Eventually you will have your choice. For now, be patient."

 

"You were right, though," Edrei admitted. "The flower was given to one of the Jedi, and he had a vision of his master's death."

 

The man looked pleased. "A padawan? They have such malleable young minds."

 

Edrei folded her arms. "And what progress have you made on my behalf?"

 

"We will make great strides together, Edrei. I have foreseen it."

 

I haven't, Edrei thought sourly. "I expect results, Senator, not promises."

 

"You shall have them. We -- Umak Leth and I -- will be coming back to Pralderis. We will be grateful for your hospitality."

 

Edrei scowled. "Why are you coming back?"

 

"Such questions, my dear...never fear. I arranged for the Jedi to come to you, did I not? What I promise, I will do."

 

"Very well," Edrei said. "I'll await your arrival."

 

"We'll arrive in three days -- no more. And when I summon you, my dear," he said softly, his voice silken, "do try to hurry. I don't like to be kept waiting." The hologram winked out, and Edrei was left in darkness.

 

She scowled. Things had never been beyond her grasp, and were not now, but she could not prevent a feeling of foreboding. That man was...

 

Edrei shook herself mentally, leaving the room and opening the door of the next chamber. In it was a pale golden glow, and a human form, huddled in the corner. Edrei heard the soft clink of a chain, and sighed in relief. It was necessary for her to purge these unpleasant and disconcerting emotions.

 

"Get up," she said to the huddled form. "Get up. I have need of you."

 

**********

 

He accepted the hypospray containing the last precious drops of the gold fluid and turned his attention to the Jedi who lay unmoving before him. He ignored Umak as she left the room. She was having one of her periodic attacks of conscience; it would be gone soon enough.

 

He placed the hypospray against the Jedi's neck. She started, awaking from a heavy stupor.

 

"Wake up, Jedi," he said softly. "Look at your padawan."

 

She looked at the body of the young man sprawled upon the floor, at the evidence of horrific and methodical abuse, at his naked and broken form. Slow, drugged tears crept from her eyes. "Curse you," she rasped, her voice tortured beyond repair; incessant screaming did that to the vocal cords. "Curse you for what you've done."

 

"He'll be dead in hours. But he suffered bravely; that, at least, is a credit to your training."

 

"Please," she whispered, and he was delighted to hear the defeat in her voice, to see it in her posture. "Please, if you have any mercy --"

 

"There will be no mercy," he said softly, bending close to speak into her ear. "Not for you, nor for any in your Order. But I thank you for your assistance. Now...one last time, if you please. Look at me."

 

She looked; it was as though she could not help herself.

 

"Wonderful. Now...tell me."

 

The sound of her terrified gasps -- for she could no longer scream -- was as intoxicatingly sweet, he mused, as the visions themselves.

 

*

 

Obi-Wan and Ceirn walked slowly through the halls of Thanach Hold, accompanied by the usual complement of stone-faced guards. Obi-Wan, without appearing to, marked their passage, confident that he was slowly getting a sense of the Hold's layout despite the numerous circuitous routes on which he'd been led.

 

The Hold, as far as Obi-Wan was able to determine, was roughly hexagonal in design, with fortified turrets at each point. Corridors and stairways wound in and out of the structure in no discernible order. The entire edifice reminded Obi-Wan of a spiderweb or a snowflake with all their attendant complexities, but lacking their lightness or beauty.

 

The Great Hall in which the meeting was being held was close to the outside of the hexagon, Obi-Wan thought. His bedroom and Qui-Gon's were also along the perimeter of the Hold. Some of the passages he'd explored on the night he'd been attacked had been small and odd in shape; he might have been closer to the hub that night. There had to be a reason why he and Qui-Gon, and indeed, all the palace occupants were led about like children. Surely it wouldn't be that they didn't know their way around; the guards seemed to be comfortable enough here, and Ceirn walked with no hesitation, his posture relaxed.

 

Obi-Wan flicked a glance at the young man walking at his side. He'd appeared to be sickly at their first meeting, but that had been an illusion, Obi-Wan saw. Ceirn was small in stature and somewhat frail-looking, but when he walked, he gave the impression of one who possessed a coiled excess of energy and who was simply waiting for an opportunity to use it. The Force flowed around Ceirn, as well, as it flowed around Varden and Edrei, but the sensation was discomforting and strangely unfamiliar, alien to him when he reached out to grasp it.

 

Perhaps Qui-Gon is correct, and their methods of harnessing the Force are simply different, Obi-Wan thought. That didn't seem precisely right, though -- was it Darkness he sensed? Certainly there was tension humming throughout this massive structure, but perhaps that was due to the tumultuous rush of emotions from the opposing factions.

 

Obi-Wan, realizing that his thoughts were becoming disordered, focused once again on their progress. They climbed a steep, soaring staircase, and made their way through a long corridor. The spans of the halls were wide, and their path was straight, not meandering -- we must be close to the outer edge of the Hold, Obi-Wan thought. His suspicions were proved correct when Ceirn urged him into a room, and he saw a narrow set of glass doors with intricately worked wrought metal fortifications throughout, opening to a balcony or parapet.

 

Ceirn closed the door in the guards' faces and sighed in evident relief. "That's enough of that. Thank you for agreeing to dine with me."

 

"Thank you for asking me," Obi-Wan replied politely, looking at the food heaped upon shining platters at one end of a long table. "Are your servants permitted to bring food to your chamber unescorted?" He did his best to sound artless, but the question sounded rather calculated to his own suspicious ears.

 

Ceirn laughed. "No -- even they have escorts. I've known a few that have ventured off alone and gotten lost -- some for days."

 

"The guards know their way around," Obi-Wan observed.

 

"That's their job," Ceirn replied, unperturbed. "It's a throwback, if you will, to earlier times, Obi-Wan, when treachery lurked behind every door and one was lucky not to be strangled in the night by a bribed slave or a factor one had thought loyal. Look at this," he said, indicating a great broadsword that hung beside the richly draped bed. "This belonged to my great-grandfather, Claugh Thanach, when there were chieftains and lords, and not the commonwealth that exists today. When most of the nobility slept in the innermost part of the Hold, my great-grandfather used to sleep out here. Better not to wait long for attack if it was inevitable, he would say, and had his sword at the ready at all times. He used it, too," Ceirn smiled, stroking the long blade with an affectionate smile. "Claugh dispatched over a dozen attackers with this sword."

 

"It sounds like a hazardous life," Obi-Wan said.

 

"It was. My great-grandfather was one of seven chieftains on Pralderis, and well-respected. When the clan strife came, he was killed in battle, a hundred years old if he was a day. I am grateful that a long peace resulted after the conflicts, even though he perished. I mean to have it again."

 

"That is an admirable goal, Ceirn," Obi-Wan said. "I wish more of your people thought as you do."

 

"They are recalcitrant, aren't they?" Ceirn laughed. "Well, soon enough, Obi-Wan -- you'll see. I'm glad you're here."

 

Obi-Wan smiled, acknowledging the compliment. "You said Pralderis was a commonwealth. But there are monarchs --"

 

"Once I am crowned, I'll simply be a figurehead," Ceirn said. "The Thanach monarchs exist to serve the people of Pralderis. Our opponents will see that soon enough. I plan to advance open elections very soon. Our Ministers should be chosen by the people."

 

"That is sensible," Obi-Wan agreed cautiously. None of this had been spoken of at the meetings thus far.

 

"It's my hope that my coronation will revive some of the old spirit in our people. Edrei's right -- Pralderis will be united again. Now -- shall we eat?"

 

They consumed the meal slowly. Ceirn continued to ask probing and intelligent questions about the Jedi Order, and Obi-Wan answered them to the best of his ability, somewhat flattered by the young man's curiosity and open admiration.

 

"I would love to visit the Temple one day," Ceirn said wistfully, his light brown eyes faraway.

 

"Most of the Temple is not open to those who are not Jedi," Obi-Wan said. "But there are many areas that are. If you are ever on Coruscant, I would be honored to show you what I can."

 

"I'll take you up on that," Ceirn said. "I've never even been off-planet," he added gloomily.

 

Obi-Wan was surprised. "Never?" he asked. "But you have a spaceport very close by, and --"

 

"That's mostly for trade," Ceirn broke in with a shake of his head. "We export textiles."

 

"And what do you import?"

 

"Since the conflicts began again?" Ceirn smiled. "Mostly Jedi."

 

Obi-Wan laughed. "I see."

 

"Edrei is very taken with your master," Ceirn said suddenly, in a confiding tone.

 

Obi-Wan's smile dimmed a bit. "Master Qui-Gon is pledged to another Jedi on Coruscant."

 

Ceirn chuckled. "You'll have to forgive my sister, Obi-Wan. When she sees something she wants, she pursues it -- or him, as the case may be." He rose to his feet and crossed the room to a cabinet, fetching a new decanter of wine. He poured a generous amount into Obi-Wan's goblet. "I don't think she has much regard for an absent lover." He raised his own glass in a salute to Obi-Wan and drank.

 

Obi-Wan, suddenly uncomfortable, stood and, without quite meaning to, downed the entire goblet of wine. "Qui-Gon does, though."

 

"Does what? Oh -- he has a fondness for his lover. Well, of course. You might want to warn him, though -- Edrei can be persistent."

 

"I'm sure he can take care of himself," Obi-Wan said neutrally.

 

"I'm making a clod of myself," Ceirn fretted. "It was not my intention to demean him. And -- I feel terrible for what I said when we first met, Obi-Wan. You seemed to share such a special closeness with him, and when you addressed him as 'Master,' I thought -- " Ceirn blushed, looking uncomfortable. "I thought you were his bed-slave."

 

Quite against his will, Obi-Wan felt his entire body become very warm. "We do share a special closeness, Ceirn," he said, doing his utmost to sound casual. "I have been apprenticed to Qui-Gon for many years. But as I said, he's pledged to a knight at the Temple, and I have a companion of my own."

 

"Another Jedi?" Ceirn queried eagerly.

 

"Yes -- Garen Muln. We were crechemates. He is my dearest friend." Obi-Wan felt a small twinge of shame. He hadn't thought of Garen much since they'd last spoken.

 

Qui-Gon, he thought.

 

"You miss him," Ceirn said, putting a warm, sympathetic hand upon Obi-Wan's shoulder.

 

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, ashamed of the lie. No, he amended. It was not precisely a lie; he did miss Garen. And he loved him. But it was not the same, somehow...

 

"Look at the moons, Obi-Wan," Ceirn said, seeming glad to change the topic of conversation. "Aren't they lovely?" He strode to the doors and, flinging them open, stepped onto the narrow balcony.

 

Obi-Wan dutifully followed the young man onto the balcony, looking at the light the moons cast upon the black sea. "Beautiful," he agreed.

 

"The festivities begin tomorrow," Ceirn said. "Arguing by day, feasting by night. It's ridiculous."

 

"The talks should not be delayed," Obi-Wan said, feeling a little dizzy as he looked down toward the ground. They were more than a hundred meters from the ground and, Obi-Wan saw, almost directly above his and Qui-Gon's rooms.

 

"I want this over with," Ceirn said. "I can't abide this any longer."

 

Obi-Wan glanced at him. "The road to peace is not always an easy one, Ceirn. Have patience -- it will come, soon enough."

 

"Are you all right? You're swaying."

 

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I'm just tired. Perhaps I should retire."

 

Ceirn nodded, propelling him to the door. "I'll accompany you." He opened the door and ordered the guards to escort them to Obi-Wan's room.

 

Obi-Wan had some difficulty concentrating as he was led through the halls. The healer was right, he thought ruefully. I'm not accustomed to their wines -- they're a little strong.

 

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached Obi-Wan's bedchamber. "Go on," Ceirn ordered the guards. "I'll call you when I need you."

 

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan said, walking steadily -- more or less -- into the room.

 

"Hm," Ceirn said, his tone amused. He shut the door behind himself. "Can't hold your wine. What sort of a diplomat are you?"

 

"The sort who doesn't drink very much," Obi-Wan admitted with a wry grin. He took his robe off and slung it haphazardly over a chair and sat on the bed.

 

Ceirn sat beside him. Their legs touched; Ceirn absently patted Obi-Wan's thigh. "I forgot to tell you -- you'll be expected to wear our native dress tomorrow evening. It's an archaic and impractical way of dressing, but the elders would be apoplectic if we flouted tradition. I'll make sure that you and your master will have appropriate clothing."

 

"Thank you," Obi-Wan nodded. His eyelids were becoming heavy.

 

"I think you'll look wonderful, though, so maybe it's not such a horrible thing." Ceirn's hand had slowed from a pat to a caress.

 

Obi-Wan looked down at the hand, feeling as though there was something vaguely inappropriate about all this. "Ceirn..."

 

Ceirn's hand moved up, and all at once he was cupping Obi-Wan's face, leaning forward. "Don't worry about anything, Obi-Wan," Ceirn whispered. "You're just a little tired."

 

Obi-Wan found himself agreeing...then, starting, he drew back with a frown. Ceirn was, unbelievably, using the Force, and with a most decided skill -- and, Obi-Wan realized, with the slightest taint of Darkness. "Ceirn -- what are you doing?"

 

Ceirn only smiled at him. "Relax, Obi-Wan. You're tired."

 

Obi-Wan fought the wave of exhaustion that swamped him, uncertain how to proceed. It was imperative that he not offend his host, but when the host was attempting to make him fall asleep with the willful use of the Force -- wasn't that a breach of etiquette?

 

The breach widened when Ceirn leaned forward and kissed him, pushing him into a prone position.

 

Obi-Wan's breath left his body in a rush, and he placed his hands against Ceirn's chest. Ceirn took Obi-Wan's face in his hands and kissed him with greater persistence, thrusting his tongue into Obi-Wan's mouth. He straddled Obi-Wan and lay atop him, writhing sensuously.

 

Obi-Wan felt Ceirn's erection pressing into his thigh. He pushed against Ceirn, trying to dislodge him, but the young man was surprisingly strong despite his frail appearance. Obi-Wan's grasp on the Force was tenuous, but he managed to push Ceirn off and get to his feet unsteadily.

 

"Ceirn," he said softly, "I think we should both forget that this happened. It's inappropriate for me to behave in such a manner."

 

Ceirn smiled. "You weren't misbehaving. I was." He didn't seem offended.

 

Obi-Wan frowned. "Nevertheless, I can't --" He turned at a knock on the door of the bath.

 

"Obi-Wan?" It was Qui-Gon's voice, muffled and soft.

 

Obi-Wan shook his head. "This can't happen again," he said quietly, but with decided firmness.

 

Ceirn shrugged. "All right."

 

Obi-Wan strode to the bath to open the door. He made a slight bow to Qui-Gon. "Good evening, Master."

 

Qui-Gon frowned down at him. "Are you all right, Padawan?"

 

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, Master. Ceirn and I," he said, turning to indicate Ceirn, "were just discussing tomorrow's festivities."

 

Ceirn smiled. "Yes. There's not a great deal of ceremony, Master Jinn, but there will be a great deal of celebratory drinking." He smiled, then looked meaningfully at Obi-Wan.

 

Obi-Wan returned the look, feeling a trifle offended by the young man's insouciance, yet unable to respond effectively. He had been drinking, and it wasn't the first time someone had tried to press his or her advantage. "I hope you don't mind if I abstain," Obi-Wan said.

 

Ceirn smiled. "Not at all. Good night, Obi-Wan...Master Jinn."

 

**********

 

"Are you quite sure you're all right, Padawan? I thought I sensed something amiss."

 

Obi-Wan nodded and laced his fingers together. His eyes looked glassy.

 

Qui-Gon peered quizzically at Obi-Wan. "Obi-Wan -- are you intoxicated?"

 

Shamefaced, Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. "I had two glasses of wine with dinner, Master. Drinking doesn't usually affect me this way."

 

"You had wine at the midday meal," Qui-Gon said. "You seemed fine then."

 

"I was fine then," Obi-Wan asserted. "I'm fine now, Master -- just a little tired." He walked to the balcony doors, looking out at the moons. "Do you think it's wise for the Thanach to open their doors for a celebration when tensions are so high, Master?"

 

"I'm sure they intend to do it with or without our approval, Padawan," Qui-Gon said. "And it may be a good idea after all -- it may be perceived as a gesture of goodwill."

 

"Or a display of power," Obi-Wan said.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"The exhibition of a monarchy, even as the royal family talks of free elections." Briefly, Obi-Wan described his conversation with Ceirn.

 

Qui-Gon frowned. "Both sides are keeping secrets, Obi-Wan. I wonder what their lack of honesty is hiding."

 

"I wasn't able to determine who was lying, Master."

 

"The more information we receive, Obi-Wan, the more I think that everyone is concealing the truth in some fashion. Everyone seems to have their own agenda."

 

"Yes," Obi-Wan said

 

Qui-Gon turned to gaze at Obi-Wan. His padawan was standing in front of the doors, looking up at the moons, his expression pensive and, Qui-Gon thought, troubled.

 

"I sense Darkness here, Master."

 

Qui-Gon folded his hands within his sleeves. "Don't leap to conclusions just yet, Padawan."

 

"I'm not, Master," Obi-Wan sighed.

 

Qui-Gon crossed the room, looking out the doors. The moons were nearly full, and their colors on this clear, cold evening were brilliant, flooded with light. There was a cluster of bright stars just north of the peach-colored moon that reminded Qui-Gon of the dusting of pale freckles on Obi-Wan's collarbone.

 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. His lips parted as though he would speak, but he did not. It was so difficult to maintain his serenity when Obi-Wan stood only a meter away, beautiful and desirable and serious, almost stern in his silence.

 

Seeming to sense that he was being scrutinized, Obi-Wan glanced swiftly at Qui-Gon, smiling. Qui-Gon returned the smile in an avuncular manner and, unable to help himself, reached out to brush his fingertips against Obi-Wan's collarbone on the pretext of tidying his tunic.

 

"Your tunic," Qui-Gon said foolishly.

 

"Thank you," Obi-Wan murmured.

 

This is a foolish game you play with yourself, old man, he thought. Sooner or later Obi-Wan is going to politely, but firmly, tell you to keep your wandering hands to yourself.

 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then frowned. "Master."

 

"Yes, Padawan?"

 

"Master..." Obi-Wan took a step toward the door and stumbled. Sinking to his knees, he groped out blindly, his hands flattening against the glass. A soft, despairing moan escaped him.

 

"Obi-Wan --" Qui-Gon rushed forward and knelt beside Obi-Wan, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Padawan -- padawan, what's wrong?" His heart pounding, he lay a hand on Obi-Wan's cheek. It was slightly warmer than usual and flushed, but that was no doubt from the wine. Obi-Wan's eyes were wide and filled with terror. "Padawan," he urged Obi-Wan, "speak to me, my -- speak to me, Padawan. What is it?"

 

"It's cold," Obi-Wan whispered.

 

Without hesitation, Qui-Gon lifted Obi-Wan in his arms and carried him to the bed. He lay him upon the bed, then pulled down the blankets. He took off Obi-Wan's boots and utility belt before pulling up the covers, smoothing them over his padawan's body.

 

Obi-Wan's eyes were wide and sightless. "Yes indeed," he said clearly, "if it's a fast ship."

 

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon whispered, dropping to his knees beside the bed. "You've got to speak to me, Padawan. Tell me what's wrong."

 

"Krayt dragons make that noise," Obi-Wan said, his tone confiding and dryly amused. "It's the canyon walls." Then his face changed, and he looked frightened. "No," he whispered. "Run." His hands reached out to empty air, blindly seeking. "Master -- Master!"

 

Qui-Gon caught Obi-Wan's hands and folded them together, pinning them to his chest with one hand. Placing his other hand on Obi-Wan's forehead to still his thrashing -- gently, though, so as not to further alarm him -- Qui-Gon spoke softly into Obi-Wan's ear. "Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, listen to me. You're safe, Padawan. I'm here."

 

"Master --" Obi-Wan neither saw nor heard him, Qui-Gon realized. His padawan's face was blank, frighteningly empty; he seemed to stare through Qui-Gon rather than at him. Tears had welled up in Obi-Wan's eyes and were slowly sliding down his temples.

 

Oddly, the tears alarmed Qui-Gon more than anything. He hadn't seen his padawan weep in years. He smoothed back Obi-Wan's damp hair and whispered to him. "Obi-Wan...all is well, Padawan."

 

"No..."

 

"It is. It is. Be still, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's lips brushed against the curve of Obi-Wan's ear. "Sleep, Padawan." He focused the Force, sending it to Obi-Wan, silently encouraging serenity, peace, rest.

 

Obi-Wan let out one dry, coughing sob and was still.

 

"There, Padawan...sleep now."

 

Obi-Wan's eyelids lowered slowly, and after an interminably long time he slept, though his brow remained furrowed as though he hadn't discarded the final vestiges of whatever terrible vision held him in its grasp.

 

Obi-Wan had been drugged, Qui-Gon thought angrily. Something in the wine, most likely. Someone sought to harm Obi-Wan, but who -- and indeed, why and how -- was a mystery. What had they to gain? The presence of the Jedi on Pralderis was, thus far, negligible. Nothing either of them had said had made a whit of difference in the conflicts; since neither side seemed to be gaining ground, there was no reason to blame the Jedi for a shift in the balance of power. Force knew, Qui-Gon reflected, that had happened often enough in the past.

 

And Qui-Gon himself had not been targeted. That was worrisome, but he attributed it to Obi-Wan's youth; the elders, at least, had regarded Obi-Wan as a mere child. Such was enough reason to attempt to disrupt the talks and distract Qui-Gon by threatening his apprentice...if only there were a discernible reason for it, Qui-Gon thought.

 

It disturbed Qui-Gon that he couldn't detect the pattern of the undercurrents and half-truths that flowed unevenly through the drafty stone halls of Thanach Hold. Obi-Wan, usually more perceptive than he in discerning such matters, was also confused. It seemed as though the Force, usually so comforting and familiar, was somehow...altered, even muddied in this place. Whether or not the Thanach's methods of manipulation were different from the Jedi's, there was a marked difference in the Force here, as though it was raw, barely tried and nearly uncontrollable.

 

Exhausted himself, Qui-Gon rested his head against Obi-Wan's, suddenly aware that the stone floor was cold and unyielding, and his knees were beginning to pain him. He rose to his feet with a slight grimace. Not as spry as I used to be, he thought with a touch of grim humor. Twenty years ago I could have knelt in meditation on that floor for hours.

 

He sat on the bed with a sigh, examining Obi-Wan's face. Seeing the creases of anxiety still upon Obi-Wan's features, Qui-Gon reached out and placed his hand on Obi-Wan's forehead.

 

Sleep, my padawan. Be at peace.

 

He allowed his hand to linger, absorbing Obi-Wan through touch, letting his fingers drift down Obi-Wan's temple, eradicating the last of the wetness there, then tracing the path of his jawline. Obi-Wan, in a deep slumber, turned his face toward Qui-Gon's hand, resting his cheek against it. It was an instinctive movement that wrenched Qui-Gon's heart. Unable to stop himself, he leaned down and touched his lips to Obi-Wan's cheek, rough with stubble at the day's end.

 

Qui-Gon felt a slow, helpless anger building within him. He wondered if Obi-Wan had dined alone with Ceirn; why hadn't the young prince been harmed? Was Ceirn behind the attack? He hadn't given Obi-Wan any undue attention on the night Obi-Wan had first had the nightmares...

 

At least, Qui-Gon reflected, the effects of the drug -- if Obi-Wan had indeed been drugged -- seemed to wear off quickly. He wanted to waken Obi-Wan and question him about his evening, but realized that an untroubled sleep and not questions were what Obi-Wan needed now. Qui-Gon would demand to see the healer in the morning, and would not take no for an answer. And, he thought, if Obi-Wan stayed close to him throughout the night, he would be safer.

 

Obi-Wan sighed in his sleep and moved closer to Qui-Gon. Ashamed, Qui-Gon pulled back and lay down, his body just touching Obi-Wan's. He would keep watch again...and torment himself again, yearning to take Obi-Wan in his arms.

 

He slept at last, and dreamed.

 

**********

 

Ceirn sat slumped in a large chair, his feet tucked beneath him. "He's a prude, 'drei."

 

Edrei looked up from her embroidery, her dark eyes narrowed. "Good." She turned her attention to the frame again, setting a long bone needle threaded with bright scarlet filament in her teeth.

 

"Good for you, maybe. What about me?"

 

Edrei mumbled an unintelligible response.

 

"Take that damned thing out of your mouth and talk to me," Ceirn said.

 

"I said, wait one more day," Edrei replied patiently. "I have a feeling, Ceirn -- an instinct. I'm going to show Qui-Gon the thieris tomorrow. He'll be intrigued with it -- I'm certain of it."

 

"Intrigued enough to become a slave to it?" Ceirn's voice was mocking.

 

Edrei set her needles down. "The Gift brought him here for a reason. He doesn't need to consume thieris to be attuned to it -- I see that now. I don't intend to waste him, Ceirn -- and I don't see why you object. I'm doing all this for you. After I'm assured of success with Qui-Gon, you may have the other one to do with as you please."

 

"I don't need your permission for that, Edrei."

 

"I suppose you don't at that -- your Majesty."

 

"Don't be a child, 'drei. The Jedi aren't stupid, you know, and you'll only be able to confuse them for so long."

 

"Then why did you drug Obi-Wan?"

 

"I wanted to fuck him," Ceirn shrugged. "I thought he'd be compliant."

 

"Don't waste thieris on him," Edrei snapped. "If you can't control yourself, then make him sleep or cloud his mind, or use some other drug. I've seen you do it often enough."

 

"And leave the thieris for you and Qui-Gon," Ceirn said. "Sometimes I wonder if you have my best interests at heart, Edrei."

 

Edrei stared at Ceirn, her eyes filling with tears. "Why do you wound me, Ceirn?" she whispered. "I would die for you -- you know that. Why would you --" She looked down, a tear falling from one eye and staining the linen stretched across the frame.

 

"Ah, 'drei, don't cry --" Ceirn rose and crossed the room, slipping behind Edrei's chair and embracing her. "Don't cry, sweet. I have too much on my mind, that's all. I fear those damned rabble from the Borderlands are going to strike soon -- we didn't put them down firmly enough last time. I have a feeling something terrible's going to happen tomorrow."

 

"It doesn't matter, Ceirn," Edrei said softly. "We'll be ready for them."

 

"The Jedi might object to that."

 

"The Jedi will not know," Edrei replied, turning in her chair. "Distract Obi-Wan tomorrow, while I take Qui-Gon to the thieris. There will be a communion, I swear it. One shared vision, and he'll be -- he'll be ours, Ceirn. And the Thanach will thrive."

 

Ceirn disentangled the threads from Edrei's hands and drew her up, holding her in his arms. "Your devotion to the family is inspirational. How shall I distract Obi-Wan?"

 

Edrei smiled lazily. "However you like."

 

"I told you...these two Jedi only want one another."

 

Edrei's smile disappeared. "It won't matter after tomorrow, Ceirn, I promise you. Get Varden to help you if you can't do it yourself. After the first feast..."

 

"Yes," Ceirn whispered. "The caverns. But Varden won't help me, 'drei. He's been behaving strangely lately..."

 

"Then do it yourself. But I can't be interrupted, Ceirn."

 

Edrei's lips were soft on his ear, and Ceirn shivered in delighted anticipation.

 

**********

 

Fian Thanach folded her arms, looking stern. "I'd advise you not to drink any more wine, young Jedi. I don't think your system can take it."

 

"I don't think that's the problem," Qui-Gon said tightly. "I won't insult you by asking on which side of this conflict you declare yourself, Healer, but I ask you to consider the possibility that my padawan has been drugged. I want to arrange for a test of some kind."

 

The healer stood slowly and gazed at Qui-Gon. "What conflict might that be, Master Jinn?"

 

Qui-Gon frowned impatiently. "Don't play games with me, Healer. You know what I mean."

 

Thanach reached down and took a needle kit from her bag. "Very well -- I'll examine his blood. Roll your sleeve up, young man." Swiftly, she drew a small amount of blood from Obi-Wan's arm. After replacing the items in her bag, she turned to Qui-Gon. "I don't think I'll be surprised at what I find here."

 

Qui-Gon felt a most irrational surge of anger. "You know what you're going to find? Then he is being drugged. Why didn't you --"

 

The healer shook her head. "Silence. The true conflict on Pralderis, Jedi, is more than what the Thanach tell you. You won't ask on which side I declare myself, and well you shouldn't -- all you see is illusion. Take care. Watch this boy," she nodded at Obi-Wan, "and take care of yourself, for your life's sake." She glanced around, as if seeking an eavesdropper. "I'll come to you at the feast tonight with the results of Obi-Wan's test. You won't be so closely guarded then." She swept up her cloak and strode away.

 

"Farewell, Jedi. Be careful."

 

Nonplussed, Qui-Gon watched her exit without replying. He sat down beside Obi-Wan, who was still and thoughtful, his face pale.

 

"I feel like a fool, Master."

 

Qui-Gon put his hand on Obi-Wan's knee in a gesture of reassurance. "You needn't feel that way, Padawan. But now, we will both be vigilant -- and, we will find out what the healer meant. There's more intrigue here than I suspected."

 

"If the true conflict isn't between the opposing factions, Master, then --"

 

"Then where does it truly lie?" Qui-Gon mused. "I don't know, Padawan. We must be watchful. I'd rather you stayed close to me for the time being."

 

Obi-Wan smiled a little bitterly and stood, walking to the balcony. "I am singularly blessed."

 

"It could have happened to me as well, Padawan. They underestimate you."

 

"Do they?"

 

Qui-Gon rose and crossed the room, taking Obi-Wan by the shoulders. "Do you doubt yourself?"

 

Obi-Wan would not meet his eyes. "No, Master...but you do, if you feel I cannot be left alone."

 

Qui-Gon smiled. "Yes. Well, Padawan, if I insist on having you by my side, it must be that I've grown used to your company at last." At Obi-Wan's grudging smile, he continued, "I am singularly blessed in having a padawan so intimidating that he immediately becomes a target for every evildoer on the planet."

 

Obi-Wan laughed at last, and Qui-Gon with him. "You flatter me, my Master."

 

Qui-Gon embraced Obi-Wan suddenly. "You're very precious to me, Padawan."

 

Startled, Obi-Wan returned the embrace hesitantly, his arms creeping around Qui-Gon's body. "And you to me, Master." Obi-Wan's voice was soft, diffident.

 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, unwilling to relinquish Obi-Wan from his embrace. Finally, he did, smiling, his heart aching. "Come, Padawan. It's nearly time for the first round of meetings. Ready for more abuse?"

 

"Certainly, Master," Obi-Wan said dryly. "I don't feel I've had enough lately."

*

 

Midday meal was served in a narrow, warm room adjoining the Great Hall. Long tables laden with food and drink were placed squarely in the center of the room, but if the intent was to bring the opposing parties together, it had failed miserably, Qui-Gon reflected. The occupants of Thanach Hold stayed on one side of the tables, and the opposing party remained on the other side.

 

Nevertheless, there was a marked difference in the atmosphere today, and for that Qui-Gon was much cheered. Ceirn had delivered an impassioned oration on the history of Pralderis -- a long and rich history characterized by peace, he had said, and had ended by promising to make restitution to those who had been wronged by the core of the Thanach. Qui-Gon had seen wariness on the faces of the opposing party, but there had been a breakthrough -- the opposition's leader, Eorn Thanach, had risen and said -- cautiously -- that they would discuss restitution at greater length. He had also expressed hope that the coming coronation feast would see great strides made in relations between the two factions. The speeches might have been outright political posturing, but they were infinitely preferable to the blatant hostility displayed earlier.

 

Qui-Gon bit into a small grain cake. The tables should be moved to one side of the room, he thought. That would at least eliminate the tangible dividing line between the two parties.

 

Edrei appeared at his side, a goblet of deep red wine in her hand. "We were speaking of the Force last night, Qui-Gon," she said, smiling at him. Her lips were painted a dark scarlet, to match her embroidered gown. "You said that some Jedi were stronger in some aspects of the Force than others."

 

"That's correct," Qui-Gon smiled. "There are two essential components to the Force -- Living and Unifying. Those who have a strong connection to the Living Force feel a great kinship with living things and the present. Jedi whose strength lie in the Unifying Force are focused more on the future and on destiny. Obi-Wan is one of these."

 

Edrei's brow creased. "And yourself?" Delicately, she took a sip of wine.

 

"My strength lies in the Living Force. Obi-Wan is sometimes suspicious of my focus on the present, and I often question his faith in the whims of the future. It makes for conflict sometimes." He smiled again, fondly. "But it makes for an interesting partnership, as well."

 

"So you are connected to all living things," Edrei mused.

 

"We all are."

 

"Yes," Edrei said. "Take a plant, or an animal, for example, Qui-Gon. Would you be able to heal it, given your strength in the Living Force?"

 

"I've had some success with that on occasion," Qui-Gon said. "I'm not a healer -- I was able to help Obi-Wan somewhat when he was injured, but there are limits to my abilities."

 

Edrei smiled sweetly. "Of course," she said. "Your concern for Obi-Wan was most evident. That was touching, truly."

 

"Obi-Wan is my friend as well as my student," Qui-Gon replied. "I consider myself fortunate to be his teacher."

 

Edrei nodded, gesturing with her goblet. "I think he's struck Ceirn's fancy."

 

Qui-Gon turned in the direction Edrei was pointing, seeing Obi-Wan and Ceirn in a corner of the room. Ceirn was standing close to Obi-Wan, eyes riveted upon his padawan's face. Ceirn watched with seeming fascination as Obi-Wan lifted a goblet of wine to his lips and drank.

 

Qui-Gon felt an unexpected surge of irritation. Obi-Wan had said that he intended to drink only water to avoid any unpleasant effects of the wine, which may have caused his waking dreams. Water could be drugged as well, but he intended to remind Obi-Wan just the same; the stronger taste of wine could easily mask the presence of many drugs.

 

Qui-Gon watched with a touch of anger as Obi-Wan drank again, laughing at something Ceirn had said. His laugh resounded through the room, so spontaneous and natural that all conversation ceased for an instant as the room's occupants paused to see who could possibly be so happy in this grim place. Qui-Gon's hand involuntarily tightened on his goblet.

 

Ceirn's posture was decidedly intimate; he leaned toward Obi-Wan, his weight balanced on one hip. His fingers were spread over the goblet in a manner that could almost be described as sensual, and his hair hung in loosened waves, swinging seductively when he laughed.

 

Qui-Gon didn't trust Ceirn, he realized; he didn't like the way that Ceirn stared at Obi-Wan, a wide-eyed and, Qui-Gon thought, deceptively innocent look

 

Varden joined Obi-Wan and Ceirn, and as Obi-Wan turned to speak to Varden, Ceirn looked directly at Qui-Gon and Edrei and raised his goblet in salute, smiling. Qui-Gon nodded stiffly and turned back to Edrei, who was watching him with interest.

 

Qui-Gon took a sip of water to compose himself, suddenly realizing the true source of his displeasure. It was not that Obi-Wan was drinking wine rather than water. Of all the inappropriate and irrational emotions, he thought. You're jealous. Damned fool. No wonder he didn't trust Ceirn; he had no real reason not to. He was merely responding to Ceirn's reactions to Obi-Wan.

 

Obi-Wan is not yours, he thought. Not now, nor will he ever be. Think of Tahl; think of Garen. Your feelings may be genuine, but they do you no good, nor Obi-Wan. You are his master, and that is all you will ever be. Consider yourself fortunate, as you told Edrei, and be content with your lot.

 

He half-turned again, seeing Obi-Wan leave the room with Ceirn and Varden. A chill wire of tension coiled in his belly, impotence and anger that he could not help, desire that he would not banish. Excusing himself from Edrei's side -- she looked put out, though that was another matter -- he set his glass down and strode swiftly in the direction Obi-Wan, Ceirn, and Varden had gone.

 

He found Obi-Wan alone, looking out a window at a stretch of grass. Thin sunlight filtered through the window, casting a watery light onto his padawan's face. When Obi-Wan turned to face him, he looked tired, his face drawn and pale.

 

"What happened to Ceirn and Varden?" Qui-Gon asked.

 

"They were called away."

 

"I see." Qui-Gon joined Obi-Wan at the window, gazing out onto the tall green grasses. He watched from the corner of his eye as Obi-Wan took a drink of wine. "I thought you were planning to drink only water."

 

"It's some kind of juice," Obi-Wan said, offering the glass to Qui-Gon.

 

"No, thank you." Qui-Gon clasped his hands behind his back, doing his utmost to appear nonchalant. "We agreed that we wouldn't be far from one another."

 

Obi-Wan gave him a puzzled glance; Qui-Gon noted the dark smudges beneath his padawan's eyes. "I wasn't going anywhere, Master. The conversation was rather loud in there."

 

"You were out of my line of sight."

 

A faint blush of color stained Obi-Wan's cheeks. "Perhaps I should be fitted with a homing device." He took a draught of juice and turned on his heel, walking quickly toward the banquet hall.

 

"Obi-Wan!"

 

Obi-Wan stopped but did not turn. "Yes, Master?"

 

"I did not train my padawan to speak to me in that manner." Stop this, Qui-Gon told himself. Stop it. You aren't angry with him.

 

Obi-Wan faced him, and Qui-Gon saw the wounded dignity in his eyes. "Forgive me, Master," Obi-Wan said with a slight bow.

 

Qui-Gon sighed heavily, passing a hand over his brow. "Obi-Wan -- there's nothing to forgive. You haven't done anything wrong. it's I who must apologize to you." He turned to the window, staring unseeing through the thick, wavering glass.

 

"Master?" Obi-Wan's hand was upon his arm. "Has something happened to upset you?"

 

"No, Padawan."

 

"The speeches -- they seemed to improve matters."

 

"I have hope that the feasting will bring a new willingness to compromise."

 

"Yes, Master."

 

They stood in silence for a time.

 

"Master?"

 

"Yes, Padawan?"

 

"There is something wrong in this place," Obi-Wan said softly. "I know you don't feel it, but I do. It's not just that all may not be as it seems, or that someone's drugged my drinks --"

 

"And attacked you," Qui-Gon reminded him.

 

"And attacked me," Obi-Wan conceded. "It may be because the Thanach are using the Force differently -- there is Darkness here, Master."

 

"There is something wrong, of a certainty," Qui-Gon replied. "We must be careful with whom we associate."

 

"Do you mean Ceirn?"

 

"I was speaking in a general sense, Padawan." I mean Ceirn, Padawan. If he's done anything to harm you --

 

"Master -- if something's troubling you, won't you confide in me?"

 

Qui-Gon turned to Obi-Wan, examining him minutely. Obi-Wan looked weary and sad, and Qui-Gon was seized with the impulse to take Obi-Wan in his arms, to lead him to his bedroom and comfort him, explore him, learn every inch of that familiar, radiantly fair face and body. "I'm sorry, Padawan," he murmured. "I have been...distracted."

 

"How can I help you?"

 

Qui-Gon wanted to brush his thumb over Obi-Wan's lower lip, its center stained crimson with juice. He contented himself with putting a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "You already have, Obi-Wan. I could not ask for a better friend. You don't know how invaluable you are to me. And I see the strain you've been under. It's a distressing thing to be ignored, isn't it?"

 

Obi-Wan smiled wryly. "It isn't the first time it's happened, and likely not to be the last."

 

"You're right about that. Obi-Wan -- I know that there's something eluding our grasp here, but what it is I cannot say. Be patient with me -- the answers will come soon enough."

 

Obi-Wan bowed his head in acceptance. "Yes, Master." He looked up then, his eyes twinkling. "I've forced an admission from you. I feel as though I've won a great victory."

 

"Don't get used to it," Qui-Gon advised, smiling and wondering, apropos of nothing, why the hollow of Tahl's throat had never been half as enticing to him as Obi-Wan's was.

 

The meeting bell rang, and they smiled at one another. "I've never felt so useless," Obi-Wan said. "For all these people care, I'm nothing more than a not-particularly-decorative statue."

 

Laughing, Qui-Gon drew Obi-Wan toward the door. "Only to them, Padawan. Only to them."

 

*

 

Obi-Wan gazed a little dubiously at the young boy who'd been assigned as his dresser. "It's a complicated arrangement of clothing, Obi-Wan," Ceirn had said, laughing. "I want to make sure that you look perfect."

 

Obi-Wan had acquiesced easily enough, but now, looking at the unwieldy bunch of rough woolen fabric in the boy's arms, he wondered. "And you're sure everyone will be wearing this?" he asked, feeling somewhat foolish.

 

" 'Course they will," the boy nodded, dropping the mottled spice-brown fabric on the bed. "You'd best get undressed."

 

Stifling a shiver, Obi-Wan stripped to his underwear and stood uncertainly, watching the boy. After measuring Obi-Wan with his eyes, he spread the length of cloth out so that a good deal of it lay draped on the floor. The boy then began to fold the cloth rapidly, leaving a great portion still upon the floor.

 

The boy eyed his underwear with amused contempt. "You've a shirt for that," he said, nodding to a woven shirt that lay upon the bed.

 

Obi-Wan scowled but, unwilling to pick a quarrel with a child over the protocol of traditional Pralderian costume, hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear and yanked them down. Stepping out of them, he hastily threw on the shirt, seeing that it fell to mid-thigh, an acceptably modest length. There was a single tie that closed the shirt just below the throat; Obi-Wan fastened it loosely, then stood still, awaiting his stern little attendant's approval.

 

The boy threw him a swift look and grunted in satisfaction. "That's right," he said. "Come here." He frowned as Obi-Wan approached. "You've a weapon of your own, haven't you?" At Obi-Wan's nod, he tilted his head. "You'd best wear your own belt, then." He picked up Obi-Wan's belt and, slinging it over one shoulder, carefully gathered the folds of cloth and began to arrange them about Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was pressed into service as well, holding the fabric here and there at the boy's terse instructions as the cloth was wrapped about his body, forming a sort of thickly pleated skirt.

 

"It's a kilt, not a skirt," the boy informed him a trifle haughtily.

 

Obi-Wan was surprised. "You are a Thanach?"

 

"Of course."

 

"You knew what I was thinking," Obi-Wan said.

 

The boy shrugged with perfect nonchalance and continued his task.

 

"What's your name?" Obi-Wan asked, in an effort to be friendly.

 

"Delan," the boy said. "Hold your arms up."

 

After the kilt was arranged, Obi-Wan fastened his belt, and was given a short brown jacket of soft, sueded animal hide. He slipped it on; it was closely fitted, but comfortable for all that. The long, trailing end of the kilt was twisted and pinned to Obi-Wan's jacket with a large, ornamental brooch set with polished black stones. Another belt with a pouch was hung on Obi-Wan's hips. The soft boots that had been brought for Obi-Wan were deemed too small, and Delan consented -- rather ungraciously, Obi-Wan thought privately -- to allow Obi-Wan to wear his own boots.

 

Delan pointed to a wooden chair. "Sit down." He took a small box and began to withdraw several items. He instructed Obi-Wan to remove his hair ornaments.

 

Obi-Wan did so grudgingly, but watched with admiration as the boy replaited his hair, weaving thongs threaded with polished stones through the more elaborate braid. The thongs and stones hung nearly to Obi-Wan's waist. A leather cord with a black, gold-flecked stone was tied about his throat, and finally the boy dipped into a tiny container, painting the rim of Obi-Wan's eyelids with an oily kohl. The boy painted three narrow streaks across Obi-Wan's left cheek, then moved behind him, drawing some symbols on the back of his neck, pulling his jacket down to reach the first delicate bump of spine..

 

"What is it you're drawing back there?" Obi-Wan asked.

 

"Hold still. It's a prayer for strength in battle." Finishing his task, the boy walked around the chair to face Obi-Wan. "Stand up, Jedi." As Obi-Wan stood, the boy circled him, admiring his handiwork. "Not bad," he allowed, pushing Obi-Wan to the mirror. "Look at yourself, Jedi. Better than that stuff you usually wear."

 

Obi-Wan made no remark at the boy's effrontery, but looked at himself in the long glass in thoughtful silence.

 

A raw young warrior stared back at him, wild-looking in paint and woolens and leather. The kilt stopped a few centimeters above his knees, revealing pale, tautly muscled legs above his boots. His eyes, ringed in smudged black, seemed fierce -- such was the intent of the paint, Obi-Wan supposed -- and the streaks across his cheeks lent a primitive violence to his appearance.

 

It was a startling picture, Obi-Wan decided, yet not altogether unpleasant.

 

Delan handed Obi-Wan his lightsaber. Obi-Wan nodded solemn thanks and ignited it, making it hum as he performed a swift maneuver or two -- to test ease of movement in this strange clothing, he told himself, and not to impress the cynical little lad who was even now gaping at the radiant blade in undisguised admiration.

 

Obi-Wan deactivated his weapon at a knock on the door of the bath.

 

"It's Qui-Gon, Padawan."

 

"Come in, Master." Obi-Wan hung his saber on his belt. He felt a little abashed now in his Pralderian regalia, but stood his ground firmly, planting his feet widely apart and clasping his hands behind his back.

 

The door creaked open, and Obi-Wan's mouth gaped slightly at the sight of his master.

 

If Obi-Wan looked like a warrior, then Qui-Gon resembled a sovereign, tall and massive and proud in his primitive costume. He wore a kilt and shirt and jacket similar to Obi-Wan's, but the kilt was a deep blue, as was the jacket. Slim braids were woven throughout Qui-Gon's hair, adorned with tiny, glittering crystals, both transparent and vividly colored. Like Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon wore his own boots and belt, and also like Obi-Wan, his eyes were painted, making them an even fiercer blue, and a jagged black line was painted down his left cheek.

 

Qui-Gon was staring at him as if in astonishment.

 

Obi-Wan felt a strange, high singing in his blood, and was seized with the conflicting desire to both fall to his knees and beg Qui-Gon to take him, and to tackle his master to the ground and plunder him. Grateful for the voluminous concealment of the kilt, Obi-Wan lifted his chin slightly. "Master." Ravish me. "You look magnificent." Qui-Gon looked more than magnificent; he looked...romantic, and wild, and beautiful. Obi-Wan, who had enough pleasure, but precious little romance in his life, felt a sharp, throbbing ache of loss and yearning.

 

A faint redness touched Qui-Gon's cheeks. Had Obi-Wan embarrassed him?

 

Qui-Gon coughed slightly. "As do you, Padawan. That clothing...suits you."

 

Obi-Wan forced himself not to look away as Qui-Gon's blue eyes burned into his. Blue, Obi-Wan thought absurdly. So blue. Without realizing it, he took a step closer to Qui-Gon, the better to see the color of his eyes.

 

Qui-Gon was silent, looking into Obi-Wan's eyes. His face was tinged with color, and his chest was rising and falling with slightly greater intensity than usual. Obi-Wan, with uncharacteristic boldness, took Qui-Gon's measure, feature by familiar feature.

 

Obi-Wan had been but twelve when Qui-Gon had taken him as a padawan. Obi-Wan had been intimidated by Qui-Gon, had thought his master impossibly perfect. He knew now that Qui-Gon was not perfect, but that did nothing to diminish Obi-Wan's love for him, a love that had begun as a simple desire for Qui-Gon to acknowledge Obi-Wan's existence. Each feat accomplished, each lesson learned was a testimony to Obi-Wan's dedication to the Jedi, his devotion to his master. As time had passed and the student became increasingly confident, the need to prove himself had dwindled, but his devotion to Qui-Gon had not.

 

Obi-Wan was too prudent, too much a Jedi to allow himself to be driven by pure need, but there were times -- such as now -- when duty, love, and desire welled within him, scalding him and leaving his heart aching. He felt a sudden bitter, unworthy resentment toward Tahl; she was like a locked iron gate before a shrine.

 

"Obi-Wan --" Qui-Gon's voice was a hoarse whisper; as he spoke, there was the sudden shrilling of a lone pipe. It was a lonely, mournful sound, and Obi-Wan leaned closer, his lips parting as though in preparation for a kiss.

 

"They'll be waiting for you." It was Obi-Wan's little dresser, who'd been bustling about, tidying Obi-Wan's discarded clothing.

 

The spell was broken; Qui-Gon smiled at Obi-Wan, gesturing with a hand. "After you, my padawan."

 

Obi-Wan managed a smile, bowing his head. "Yes, Master."

 

Their escorts led them to the great doors through which they'd entered the Hold. Varden, Edrei, and Ceirn stood by the doors, waiting. Ceirn and Varden were dressed similarly to Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, if in richer fabrics and colors, while Edrei wore a loose-fitting gown of autumn green. All three siblings bore face paint and, in contrast to the more modest adornments worn by Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, great, dark jewels winking lustrously in their hair and on their clothing.

 

Obi-Wan, looking at the trio, felt another chill caress of Darkness -- a sensation that could not be ignored. He glanced anxiously at Qui-Gon, seeking some acknowledgment on his master's face, but Qui-Gon remained serenely impassive.

 

"You look like true sons of the Thanach," Ceirn said, smiling and drawing close to Obi-Wan, his painted eyes twinkling. "You look like real warriors now. We are honored to have you here."

 

"We are honored to serve," Obi-Wan murmured automatically, the feeling of impending danger and the vagaries of the Force in this place coursing rapidly through his body like electric shocks. Instinctively, his hand went to his lightsaber.

 

Obi-Wan glanced once more at Qui-Gon, but he was nodding at something Edrei was saying to him.

 

Something is going to happen tonight, Obi-Wan thought.

 

The music began, a mad cacophony of pipes, drums, and horns. The honor guard, comprised of over fifty men, surrounded the Royal Family and the Jedi in a phalanx and began moving toward the door. Obi-Wan was obliged to follow or be trampled. He glanced at the nearest guards, all as tall or nearly as tall as Qui-Gon. I feel squat, Obi-Wan thought resentfully. Do they breed nothing but giants here? One guard returned Obi-Wan's gaze, fixing him with a bleak, sparkling glare.

 

Obi-Wan walked, staring at Varden's back. Jeweled braids hung in the young man's black hair, swinging against the vivid tassels that danced from Varden's jacket. He and Edrei flanked Ceirn, each with an arm looped through their brother's.

 

Again Obi-Wan felt the urgent call of the Force. Couldn't Qui-Gon feel it?

 

The outer doors of the Hold opened, and they were greeted by flickering torchlight and the mighty shout of thousands of voices raised in jubilation.

 

 

*

 

Accepting the goblet that Edrei handed to him, Qui-Gon nodded thanks and sat back, examining the revelers with cool concentration.

 

The moons illuminated the grove in which the feast was being held, an ancient, crumbling ruin of moss-covered stone columns arranged in a circle -- it had been a temple of some sort at one time, Qui-Gon guessed. Torches blazed everywhere, dispelling the evening's damp chill and casting a cheerful glow over the thousands of people assembled there. The Jedi, the Royal Family, and the chief ministers of both factions were seated at a long table on a dais overlooking the grove. The crowds were noisy, but on the whole seemed to be in good spirits; Qui-Gon detected a ripple of unease here and there, but the emotion was fleeting; he felt no real presence of danger.

 

Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan, who sat on Edrei's other side, listening intently to something Ceirn was saying, while absently tapping his finger on the table in time with the rousing tune the music corps was playing. They'd been entertained all evening by singing and dancing, and several dozen people were even now joining hands and dancing in the midst of the circle.

 

As if he'd discerned Qui-Gon's stare, Obi-Wan turned toward Qui-Gon and smiled at him. Qui-Gon returned the smile.

 

"Will you dance, Qui-Gon?"

 

Qui-Gon turned to Edrei. "Thank you, Edrei, but no -- I'm not much of a dancer."

 

Edrei smiled. "I'm disappointed. You move with such grace. But perhaps it's a warrior's grace, and not a dancer's."

 

"Warrior," Einan Thanach snorted, his lips curled in a sneer as he lifted his goblet to his lips. Taking a deep drink and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he gestured toward Qui-Gon. "I've seen precious little evidence of these two being warriors, Highness, though I see that you've permitted them to dress as such. It's trappings and no more."

 

"The Jedi are renowned throughout the galaxy for their deeds of courage," Edrei said softly. Qui-Gon said nothing, but was surprised by the anger in her tone.

 

"Outlander rumors," the general replied contemptuously.

 

"I won't have our guests insulted," Ceirn said, setting his cup down and placing a protective hand on Obi-Wan's arm. Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan carefully, feeling a brief surge of unworthy pleasure at the way Obi-Wan patted Ceirn's hand with his free one, deftly sliding from the young man's grasp. Obi-Wan spoke softly to Ceirn; Ceirn shook his head angrily and glared at General Thanach. "This attitude of -- of insularity must end, General, if Pralderis is ever to achieve peace."

 

"Peace? Those two haven't done much to help the negotiations, have they?" Thanach replied.

 

"Only because we are so contentious," Eorn Thanach said, raising his goblet in a benevolent salute both to Edrei and to the general, then to Qui-Gon. "I think that they've both displayed commendable patience. It's not easy to deal with us, is it, Jedi? Though I admit that I'm curious about your philosophy. A peaceful warrior seems a paradox to me."

 

"Violence is never a preferred solution to a conflict," Qui-Gon replied, noting that the others at the table had fallen silent to listen. "However, it is sometimes necessary in order to preserve a greater good. Therefore, the Jedi are prepared for violence if need be."

 

"I vote for a demonstration," General Thanach grinned, taking another drink.

 

"Excellent idea!" Eorn Thanach shouted, banging his fist upon the table. Several others followed suit, cheering and whistling. "Let them fight our fiercest warriors -- let them prove themselves." More cheering followed this suggestion.

 

"No, no!" Edrei cried, laughing. "Too predictable!" She turned to Obi-Wan. "You are Qui-Gon's student, are you not?" There was dislike in her tone despite her laughter, and Qui-Gon stifled a sigh. Obi-Wan had been subjected to far more hostility than Qui-Gon had on this mission; to his credit, Obi-Wan seemed to be taking it in stride.

 

"Yes, your Highness, I am," Obi-Wan nodded.

 

Edrei clasped her hands together and looked around the table, smiling. "I propose that the master fight the student."

 

Those assembled nearby applauded, shouting and stamping their feet.

 

"'drei," Ceirn said warningly.

 

Edrei smiled at her brother. "Indulge me." She turned to Qui-Gon, placing a small, bejeweled hand upon Qui-Gon's arm. "You don't object, do you, Qui-Gon? It would give Obi-Wan a chance to prove himself -- his youth has been a detriment to him thus far, as I'm sure you've observed."

 

Qui-Gon gazed at Edrei thoughtfully, seeing for the first time a falsity beneath her sweet smile. She disliked Obi-Wan -- it was odd that Qui-Gon hadn't seen it before. It occurred to Qui-Gon that she might be jealous; though she never overstepped the boundaries of propriety, Edrei did seem to give Qui-Gon perhaps undue attention. Qui-Gon hadn't encouraged her, however, unless she'd misconstrued his acceptance of meal invitations.

 

"Obi-Wan doesn't need to prove himself to anyone, Edrei," Qui-Gon replied evenly.

 

Edrei hesitated. "Well -- no, of course not -- not with you at his side, Qui-Gon."

 

Qui-Gon frowned. "You misjudge him."

 

"Then prove me wrong," Edrei said, her eyes aglow. "Fight for me. Then, I want to show you something, Qui-Gon...something for your eyes alone." She clutched at his arm, pressing herself against him so he felt the yielding warmth of her breasts.

 

"What do you --" Qui-Gon began, but Edrei placed her fingertips against Qui-Gon's mouth, silencing him.

 

"I'll tell you...afterward. Listen, Qui-Gon! They're calling for you."

 

Indeed, word seemed to have spread; the dancing had stopped, the pipes and drums had fallen silent, and what seemed like hundreds of people had gathered near the table, cheering and shouting for the Jedi, brandishing weapons that looked well-used, not ceremonial like the swords that hung at Ceirn's and Varden's side.

 

"Come on, Jedi," General Thanach grinned. "What are you waiting for? Give us an exhibition -- unless you're afraid."

 

Qui-Gon's mouth quirked upwards at the childish taunt. He rose to his feet, and the crowd roared its approval. Approaching Obi-Wan, he leaned forward and spoke into his padawan's ear. "We've been requested to give a demonstration of our martial skills, Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan rose and moved a short distance away. Qui-Gon followed, seeing that both Edrei and Ceirn were watching them avidly.

 

"I don't like this, Master," Obi-Wan murmured. "They are bloodthirsty."

 

"Perhaps," Qui-Gon admitted. "But this might be a good idea. A display of warrior's strength may induce them to take our suggestions more seriously. A bout of sparring could work to our advantage." At Obi-Wan's doubtful expression, Qui-Gon clasped his shoulder. "Trust me, Padawan."

 

"I feel like an animal on display," Obi-Wan grumbled, resting his hand on the hilt of his saber.

 

"I'll stop short of letting them open your mouth to check your teeth," Qui-Gon replied dryly, surprising a laugh from Obi-Wan. He smiled, pleased at Obi-Wan's quick acceptance, and gestured for Obi-Wan to precede him.

 

They strode to the center of the circle, to the thunderous, enthusiastic approval of the assembled crowd, and the evident approval of the music corps, who swung into a wild, shrilling tune.

 

Edrei held her hands up for silence; every subject obeyed, and the only sounds to be heard were that of the wind and the rushing sea.

 

"People of Pralderis," she said, her voice carrying over the crowd, "in honor of the occasion of my beloved brother Ceirn Thanach's attainment of majority, our esteemed guests, Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi have consented to a display of skill and strength." She smiled benevolently as the crowd shouted its approbation again.

 

Qui-Gon watched her closely. Edrei behaved like a monarch, one born and accustomed to power. Glancing at Ceirn, Qui-Gon saw that the young man was watching his sister with narrowed eyes. He sees her comfortable in the role of leader, Qui-Gon realized, and is unhappy with it.

 

"Theirs is a long and honorable tradition," Edrei continued, "and we thank them for their aid in helping to achieve a united Pralderis. We salute this, the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship."

 

A voice suddenly rang out from the rear of the congregation. "Neither collar nor crown!"

 

A shocked murmuring broke out among the crowd. Qui-Gon turned, watching several guardsmen make their way through the assembly. On the dais, Edrei's smile had frozen, and she had grasped Ceirn's hand tightly. The other honored guests upon the dais were visibly agitated; Qui-Gon read stunned surprise, apprehension, fear, and outright rage upon several of the faces of both factions. He exchanged a careful glance with Obi-Wan.

 

"Dissidents, Master?" Obi-Wan queried softly.

 

"Possibly," Qui-Gon replied. He extended his senses and felt the clamor and confusion of emotion sweeping the assemblage, detecting unease, apprehension, anger, jubilation, puzzlement -- there was no dominant emotion, Qui-Gon realized. "Stay alert, Obi-Wan."

 

"This match might be a ruse," Obi-Wan said.

 

Qui-Gon nodded in grim agreement, stepping closer to Obi-Wan even as Obi-Wan drew nearer to him. Another step and they would be back to back, ready to defend one another.

 

Varden had risen to his feet and was raising his goblet to the crowd. "A united Pralderis -- united in peace!" he called, and the crowd roared again, the confusion apparently lifting. Qui-Gon watched Varden lift his goblet towards Ceirn and Edrei, then drink deeply. The pipes shrilled again, and the drummers began anew with renewed fervor. Varden gestured to Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, indicating that they should prepare for their match.

 

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath, looking about himself. The crude cosmetics around his eyes made them appear larger and more expressive of emotion. "Something's wrong, Master."

 

"Stay focused, Padawan," Qui-Gon advised. "Be aware of your surroundings. We're to give them a show -- let's do just that. Power your saber down to training intensity, and we'll fight to first wound. If a situation should occur, do your utmost to protect the delegates. The strength of the guards has dissipated."

 

"Yes, Master."

 

"Fight well, Padawan. May the Force be with you."

 

"And with you, Master." Obi-Wan turned and walked a short distance away. Qui-Gon watched him, admiring the way the kilt swung against his thighs, exposing a good deal of leg. The view was extremely distracting.

 

The music died down, and a hush settled over the crowd as the Jedi bowed to one another, broken by a soft murmur as their sabers were ignited.

 

Qui-Gon quieted his mind, allowing his worries and cares to dissolve into the Force. As always, he remained alert to external danger, but the main object of his focus stood a few meters away, waiting, his blue saber extended in a ready position, humming with deadly life.

 

He permitted his gaze to run the length of Obi-Wan's form and nearly regretted it; the sight of his comely apprentice in the primitive and strangely bewitching costume set his blood to seething, and the look in Obi-Wan's painted eyes burnt him more fiercely than fire. It was certainly not the first time that desire for Obi-Wan had preceded a sparring match, but it was the first time that Qui-Gon had felt almost completely undone at the sight of the young man.

 

Force help me, Qui-Gon thought. I want him so badly.

 

Obi-Wan's lips parted; Qui-Gon had a sudden longing to capture those lips with his own, to plunder that mouth thoroughly. There was no help for it, though -- he would have to settle for vanquishing his apprentice in battle.

 

Qui-Gon tensed, then attacked.

 

**********

 

"They are an astounding pair," Fian Thanach remarked to her apprentice. "Well-matched in battle."

 

Maerin glanced at her. "All the more reason to encourage them to join us."

 

Fian shot a sharp look at Maerin. "They won't. How many times must I tell you that?"

 

"You don't know for certain, Fian. They aren't aware of our presence. You can be damned sure that those bastards haven't told them anything. I think they might be sympathetic to our cause. The bastards are drugging the boy --"

 

"Enough. You're to capture them and hold them until we can resolve this, Maerin. That's all. I want them unharmed. They don't deserve to be involved in this."

 

"I wouldn't harm them, Fian," Maerin said quietly. "You know that."

 

"I know," Fian sighed, clasping Maerin's hand in her own. "I'm tired, Maerin -- ignore my tongue. I haven't had an opportunity to speak to Qui-Gon -- that can wait until they're in our custody. Make sure you have enough reinforcements to subdue them, Maerin. Render them unconscious if you can. Gods, look at them! They won't be easy to capture."

 

"I hope you know what you're doing. The Jedi Council won't be happy that we've taken hostages."

 

"Better that than the fate Edrei Thanach has planned for them. You know that."

 

"I could kill Garreil for shouting out like that," Maerin complained.

 

"Never mind. It wasn't a bad idea, you know -- they're afraid now. You saw their faces, didn't you?"

 

"Yes. Perhaps you're right, Fian."

 

Fian nodded, grasping Maerin's hand tightly. "Courage, Maerin. You have preparations to make, and so do I. Neither collar nor crown."

 

"Neither collar nor crown," Maerin replied with soft conviction. "Go in the light, my master."

 

Fian nodded and made her way to the outskirts of the assembled people. She stood beside a column, her hood concealing her face as she watched the two Jedi locked in combat.

 

What formidable allies they would make...but she could not even harbor the hope for sympathy.

 

There was a soft voice at her ear. "Healer Thanach."

 

Fian wheeled in surprise. "Your Highness," she managed. "How may I serve you?"

 

"You've betrayed us, Healer. I sensed it some time ago, but did not act on my suspicions. Now -- I must. Forgive me."

 

"Highness," she said, bowing, "I don't --" She stopped, clutching at her throat, as her air was cut off.

 

"I detest traitors, Healer."

 

Fian Thanach tried to call out, tried to run -- but she was rooted to the spot. Gasping for even a single breath, she fell to her knees, pitching forward as she spiraled into oblivion.

 

**********

 

The roar of the crowd had risen to feverish intensity; the circular arena of combat had widened as the spectators had hastily made room for the duelists. Those palace guards not engaged in finding the dissenter had muscled aside many of the guests, watching the Jedi as they fought, their weapons blindingly fast flashes of blue and green light.

 

Obi-Wan noted his surroundings and the resulting activity peripherally as he unwound from a sudden crouch to lunge at Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon stepped aside, bringing his blade up to meet Obi-Wan's. As Qui-Gon closed in, Obi-Wan spun away, using his smaller size and agility to his advantage.

 

They were a well-matched team; though Qui-Gon had taught Obi-Wan all he knew of swordsmanship, he had encouraged in Obi-Wan a singularity of style that had kept their sparring interesting and challenging. Despite the occasional gentle chastisement of Obi-Wan's tendency toward recklessness, Qui-Gon had always been pleased with Obi-Wan's fighting skills, and Obi-Wan had taken pleasure tinged with some pride in his master's praise.

 

Obi-Wan feinted, testing Qui-Gon's speed, then fell back, his blade extended. He faced Qui-Gon across two meters of space, drawing in deep breaths. Sweat had begun to bead his forehead and trickle down his back and legs despite the night's chill; he noted that Qui-Gon, too, had a sheen of perspiration on his face, and on his chest where the shirt had come undone. His hair, threaded with shimmering crystals, lay damp, matted against his shoulders. The kohl around Qui-Gon's eyes was beginning to blur, but that slight imperfection was somehow powerfully arousing. It made him appear fiercer, warlike, so different from the calm Jedi master he was. It was alien...and intoxicating.

 

Obi-Wan pressed the attack. Qui-Gon allowed him close -- close enough for Obi-Wan's saber blade to score his jacket -- then he dodged away with a sweeping arc that Obi-Wan just managed to parry. Obi-Wan's blade hissed as he dragged it down the length of Qui-Gon's own weapon, and the sabers tangled for a moment, locked together at the hilt. The crowd screamed in frenzied elation.

 

Obi-Wan trembled with effort as he fought to free his blade from Qui-Gon's, finding himself at a disadvantage because of Qui-Gon's greater mass. He was tiring; they'd fought long, and so adept were they that first wound had not yet occurred. He looked up into Qui-Gon's eyes, sparking dangerously in the light of the torches. Their bodies were touching; Obi-Wan felt the rough woolen fabric of Qui-Gon's kilt chafing the skin of his thigh, the muscular strength of Qui-Gon's bare leg brushing his.

 

Instinctively, Obi-Wan moved closer, pressing his body against Qui-Gon's. Startled, Qui-Gon stepped backward, but overreached, stumbling for an instant. Obi-Wan took advantage of the indiscretion and freed his blade, then whirled in a sweeping movement, swiftly locking a leg around Qui-Gon's and sending him sprawling to the ground. He pinned Qui-Gon's swordarm with a foot and dropped to one knee beside his master, his blade glowing at Qui-Gon's throat. Qui-Gon struggled, but Obi-Wan caught Qui-Gon's free wrist and held tightly, then brought the blade closer, a millimeter from singing Qui-Gon's unprotected skin.

 

Obi-Wan leaned close to Qui-Gon. "Yield," he gasped.

 

Qui-Gon disengaged his saber and relaxed, closing his eyes briefly. The crowd went mad, screaming and pounding their hands and feet. The pipes struck up a new song, wailing loudly as the drums took up a savage and violent accompaniment. Obi-Wan's gaze raked over his master, and he felt a surge of pure need, an overwhelming temptation to ravish Qui-Gon's mouth, his throat, glowing golden in the scarlet light of the torches, to lay full-length atop him and feel Qui-Gon's hardness torturing him, to take him in the midst of this cheering crowd, demanding and receiving a more primal submission.

 

*

 

Shaking, Obi-Wan stood, helping Qui-Gon to his feet. They bowed to one another, then to the cheering crowd. They were surrounded for some time by people pushing toward them to offer praise. Finally, Qui-Gon placed an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulder, leading him away from the dais, toward one of the massive columns. "Well done, Padawan," he said, his voice containing an odd note. "Very well done indeed."

 

"Thank you, Master. The crowd appeared to enjoy it, even if General Thanach did not." Obi-Wan indicated the general with a nod. Thanach was in conference with Edrei Thanach; they both bore grim, unsmiling expressions. Varden sat nearby, his posture tense, his somber gaze sweeping the crowd. Obi-Wan flicked a glance toward Ceirn, who was focused on him with rapt attention.

 

Since Ceirn's failed seduction, the young man had been the very model of propriety, though his manner was still overly affectionate, bordering on intimate. It disturbed Obi-Wan; Ceirn was attractive and intelligent, but there was a clinging quality to Ceirn's attentions that Obi-Wan disliked. Even if Obi-Wan had been interested in pursuing pleasure with the young man, he would have forborne, unwilling to jeopardize the mission. Qui-Gon was discomfited by Ceirn as well, Obi-Wan realized, though he hadn't specifically said so. Obi-Wan had not told Qui-Gon about Ceirn's attempt at seduction; it shamed him that he'd been nearly overpowered, and with such ease.

 

Ceirn smiled and inclined his head. Obi-Wan returned the nod politely and allowed his gaze to drift, observing that the dancing had resumed with renewed gaiety. He leaned against the column, folding his arms across his chest and watching the dancers, endeavoring not to think about his master standing beside him or the warm scent of the salt tang of his skin as Obi-Wan had bent near to him...

 

"Padawan." Qui-Gon's lips were intimately close to Obi-Wan's ear, his voice just audible over the raucous music and laughter. He placed a warm hand upon Obi-Wan's shoulder.

 

Obi-Wan remained still, though a shiver traveled the length of his spine. "Yes, Master?"

 

"I'm going to find the healer. I saw her earlier. She promised to speak with me about the drug you might have been given."

 

Had Obi-Wan moved back a single pace, his body would have been pressed against Qui-Gon's. He held his ground, his eyes focused on the dancers. "Shall I join you?"

 

"No. Stay here, Padawan. Watch Edrei. I suspect...I suspect some deception, Obi-Wan. You were right, I think -- there's more here than meets the eye."

 

"Yes, Master." He did not move as Qui-Gon drew away from him, out of the light of the torches. When he was sure that Qui-Gon was some distance from him, he sighed, resting his burning cheek against the cool stone.

 

Never before, he was sure, had his serenity been so severely tested. Life was not always a matter of choice; destiny and fate often took a hand in shaping the path of a life, changing its course as an undammed river carves its way through a canyon. His destiny was to be Qui-Gon's padawan. They shared a bond that would not be broken even by death, Qui-Gon's presence imbedded deeply in the clay of Obi-Wan's being. Qui-Gon's teachings, his guidance and affection would be with Obi-Wan forever. But in all the lessons learned over many years, was the most rigorous and difficult yet to come? Would Obi-Wan be forced one day, when the time came to part from his master so he might assume the duties of Knighthood, to take his hopes and his heart's deepest desires and set them aside, to forget them as though they had never existed? Was his destiny to long for something that could never be, to yearn for one pledged to another?

 

As Obi-Wan settled himself more firmly against the column, he heard a harsh, hissing whisper.

 

"Jedi."

 

The Force shifted around him, and before he had time to turn and face the owner of the voice, he was seized and jerked backward, yanked off his feet. A hand was clamped tightly over his mouth, silencing any possible outcry, and he was dragged roughly and with surprising swiftness toward a single torch. In the light of the torch were several persons mounted on swoops. Two people held a crude net between them. Beyond them lay several large watercraft on the shoreline, and past the boats was the sea, shining blackly in the moonlight.

 

Obi-Wan assessed his predicament quickly. Three men held him, hustling him along stony ground toward the shoreline. He allowed himself to go limp for an instant, surprising and slowing his would-be captors. Then he sprang, his muscles coiling and releasing as he twisted from the men's grasp. In a single blindingly fast motion, he drew and ignited his lightsaber, assuming a defensive posture.

 

As his assailants realized what had happened, they began to move toward him, drawing weapons -- blasters, stunners, electrojabbers -- weapons Obi-Wan had not seen thus far on Pralderis. The same sibilant whisper that had startled him earlier spoke: "Come with us quietly, Jedi -- for your own safety."

 

There was a sudden clamor from the lighted circle -- an eruption of blaster fire, and the panicked screams of the assembled guests. Obi-Wan saw the blurred motion of people mounted on swoops, diving in and out of the stone columns, and the flash of laser fire. Guardsmen formed a phalanx around the persons seated on the dais, and drew blasters of their own, firing at those on the swoops. The crowd was stampeding in every direction, screaming; all was chaos within the massive circle.

 

As Obi-Wan noted the madness taking place a distance away, the single torch was extinguished, and Obi-Wan squinted into the darkness, straining to see motion. He heard the high whine of swoop engines being ignited, and sprinted forward, intent on stopping at least one of his attackers before all escaped.

 

The swoops were all around him now, and he whirled, deflecting stunner blasts from all angles. He saw the outline of the net coming toward him, and slashed, cutting it in two and rendering it useless. He noted that his attackers weren't using blasters; someone was determined to take him alive. He spun and sliced into one swoop's aft engine, sending it crashing into the ground.

 

Another net came flying toward him; he ducked and rolled, avoiding capture but taking a glancing blow in the leg from a stunner. He lay helpless for an instant, his leg numb. Sweat stinging his eyes and blurring his vision, he swung out with his blade, bringing down another swoop. There was an exclamation of pain as the swoop's occupant landed hard on the stony ground.

 

"Don't hurt him!" someone shouted. "Disarm him -- he's just a boy!"

 

Obi-Wan scrambled backward, deflecting blows, trying to buy time for his leg to regain full strength. To his immense relief, he saw another flash of light -- Qui-Gon's saber, glowing brilliant green in the darkness. His strength and spirit renewed at the sight of his master, Obi-Wan leapt to his feet, charging his attackers. From the corner of his eye, he saw two swoops approaching Qui-Gon from the rear.

 

"Master -- behind you!"

 

Qui-Gon turned and brought down one swoop while Obi-Wan tore forward, intent on catching the second one. At that moment, several citizens rushed into the clearing, screaming, pursued by another swoop. Obi-Wan hesitated; he couldn't risk injuring innocent people.

 

"The sea, Padawan!" Qui-Gon shouted.

 

Obi-Wan turned, seeing that several people, still mounted upon the swoops, had rushed to the boats and had started the engines. Both he and Qui-Gon ran toward them in hot pursuit, but by the time they reached the shoreline, the boats had set off, speeding toward the horizon. Glancing at one another in tacit agreement, they turned, heading toward the circle of stones once again, where the uproar continued unabated.

 

Only four swoops still dove in and out of the columns; Obi-Wan summoned the Force and shoved the rider from one of the vehicles. The rider disappeared into the crowd; Obi-Wan searched frantically for the individual, but the chaos made finding him or her impossible.

 

Obi-Wan saw General Thanach shouting orders to the palace guard. "Get them!" he screamed. "Dead or alive -- I'll have your heads -- get them!" He aimed a blaster and fired; someone -- not a swoop rider, Obi-Wan was sure -- fell to the ground, screaming.

 

There were two swoops left now, Obi-Wan saw, and as he watched, they zipped out of the circle and disappeared into the night, leaving a still-panicked crowd, the palace guard, the music corps -- armed, Obi-Wan was stunned to see -- and the dignitaries at the head table, who were white with shock.

 

General Thanach strode to the center of the circle, screaming at the top of his lungs at a group of guardsmen. "Get a detachment to find them -- now, do you hear me? I want every last marauder and bag-of-filth raider brought before me, or you'll all pay for it! See that the family and the delegates are taken back to the Hold -- do I have to beat it into you -- now, damn you!" He glanced bitterly at Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, who had come forward to offer assistance. "Warriors," he sneered. Turning toward another guard, he snarled, "You! Get these two back to the Hold at once. Their safety is paramount as well. See that they are secure."

 

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon exchanged a glance as they were escorted -- manhandled might have been the proper word, Obi-Wan reflected later -- along the long, rough path to the Hold. They were dragged unceremoniously through a long, but uncomplicated corridor to Qui-Gon's door. The door was opened, and they were pushed inside. The door slammed, and the sound of locks and rattling chains could be heard on the other side.

 

With a glance at Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan raced through the bath to his own room, pulling on the door handle -- it, too, was securely locked and chained. Feeling a sort of wild desperation, he pounded on the door with a fist.

 

It did no good; they were prisoners.

 

**********

 

"Calm yourself, Padawan," Qui-Gon counseled, though in truth he felt like pounding on the door himself. "Your frustration is understandable, but anger won't solve anything."

 

Obi-Wan shook his head, placing his palms against the door. "They knew, Master. Somehow they knew. Did you see General Thanach's face? He didn't seem surprised by the raid -- he only seemed angry."

 

"I noticed that," Qui-Gon said.

 

"And he shot a bystander." Obi-Wan had begun to pace the floor. "I saw him. He has no regard for his own people."

 

"The raiders are most likely his own people as well, Padawan," Qui-Gon chided gently.

 

Obi-Wan stopped in his tracks. "All the more reason to distrust him -- and anyone here. Our presence on Pralderis is useless, Master. Neither of us have effected any change in the negotiations, and the majority of the Thanach treat us with outright contempt. Why have we been asked to come here?"

 

Qui-Gon folded his arms and walked to the glassed doors. "I don't know, Obi-Wan."

 

"They knew about the raid and said nothing to us. Several of the raiders attempted to carry me off."

 

Qui-Gon turned back to Obi-Wan. "They attempted the same with me. They caught me in a net; it took some doing to fight my way free. Were you harmed at all, Padawan?"

 

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, Master. Were you?"

 

"No." Qui-Gon paused for a moment. "My guess is that the person who voiced discontent before our match was speaking for a larger faction. Perhaps they were anti-monarchists."

 

"Pralderis has a long way to go toward unity," Obi-Wan said.

 

"Indeed. You're right about one thing, Padawan -- we know far too little about Pralderis' other factions. Edrei has my trust. I'll ask her about it when I see her again. Perhaps she can provide some insight. I think she's more politically astute than she appears to be." He did not mention that she seemed to detest Obi-Wan.

 

"She's very fond of you," Obi-Wan observed. Then his lips curved in a wry smile. "Perhaps she's seeking a Jedi mate. There are limits to consanguinity, after all."

 

Qui-Gon was still. Arrogant as the thought was, it was a possibility...the girl had asked several pointed questions about pairing and bonding among Jedi. Perhaps she, along with her brother, had thought that Obi-Wan was his bedslave...perhaps she had orchestrated the raid herself in order to remove the obstacle of Obi-Wan from her path. Was she capable of that? "I'll endeavor to resist her charms, Padawan," he smiled, putting a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. What a simple thing to do, he reflected, knowing that Obi-Wan existed.

 

And what of Tahl? a small voice nagged.

 

Obi-Wan nodded and turned away. He looked down, and then back at Qui-Gon, smiling. "Master --" He turned the handle of the door, and it swung open easily. Stepping out onto the stone balcony, he glanced over his shoulder at Qui-Gon. "Should we investigate the raid?"

 

Qui-Gon smiled. "Lead on."

 

They crept along the perimeter of the Hold, stopping at the corner, seeing the flickering light of torches. Several guardsmen stood watch, weapons at the ready. Silently, the Jedi slipped back into the shadows, then proceeded to the next corner, halting at a similar sight. Unwilling to engage the guards in battle, they fell back, stopping at the stone balcony.

 

"They aren't guarding this part of the Hold," Qui-Gon said.

 

"There's nothing but the sea," Obi-Wan said, gesturing toward the water. "And the cliffs are too sheer to scale."

 

In unspoken agreement, they walked to the edge of the cliff. The drop was long, and the stone was slippery and would prove nearly impossible to negotiate without sophisticated equipment which, Qui-Gon mused, the raiders might very well have. They had fairly modern weapons, after all.

 

"Maybe they think that we can take care of ourselves," Obi-Wan offered. "Or maybe they don't care if we perish in a raid."

 

"I don't think the raiders' intent was to kill us," Qui-Gon said. He walked in the wet grass, stopping beside one of the large stones and leaning against it.

 

"You're right," Obi-Wan admitted. "I heard one of them saying that I wasn't to be harmed."

 

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Perhaps we're not doing any good here after all, Padawan. Tomorrow, when both delegations are assembled, I'll formally request a withdrawal from negotiations."

 

Obi-Wan stared at him, his eyes reflecting the brilliant moonlight. "You'd do that?"

 

Qui-Gon sighed. "When neither side is willing to be forthcoming and truthful, Obi-Wan, and the negotiators are viewed as a hindrance rather than a help, then sometimes the best solution is to withdraw. And sometimes, the very suggestion shocks opposing factions into truthfulness, and the negotiations can proceed with greater success."

 

Obi-Wan laughed. "If they allow you to get a word in, Master, then your suggestion might work. Were you able to speak to the healer?"

 

"I couldn't find her immediately -- and then I was waylaid," Qui-Gon grinned. "I'll try to speak to her tomorrow."

 

"I'm glad you showed up when you did," Obi-Wan said. "I had a rough moment there -- one of the stunners grazed my leg."

 

"So did I," Qui-Gon admitted. "Fortunately, the crowd's confusion hampered my attackers. I think there must be some discussion of all this tomorrow -- I don't see how it can be avoided." He gazed intently at Obi-Wan. "How are you feeling?"

 

"I'm fine."

 

"You're sure?"

 

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan turned away, his profile sharp in the moonlight.

 

Qui-Gon sighed. "Obi-Wan, is it not right that I am concerned for your safety and well-being?"

 

"No, Master -- that is, you are right to be concerned. Forgive me -- I've allowed my thoughts to become..." Obi-Wan's voice, muted, trailed off entirely.

 

Qui-Gon sat upon the ground, leaning against the stone and unmindful that the grass was wet and chilly beneath his bare legs. "Sit beside me, Obi-Wan," he invited. Obediently, Obi-Wan sat at a slight distance. Qui-Gon put his arm around Obi-Wan's shoulder and drew him closer. Obi-Wan did not resist, and Qui-Gon was glad for it; even if he himself suffered with desire, he would not banish the closeness that existed between them.

 

They sat in silence for a time. Qui-Gon looked up at the moons, brilliant in the cloudless sky. It was a fine evening -- cold and clear, with a keen breeze ruffling Qui-Gon's hair and stirring the tall grasses around them. Qui-Gon felt the press of Obi-Wan's warm body next to his own, and longed to clasp him closer still.

 

"Tell me what's troubling you, Padawan."

 

"I want to tell you of the visions I had, Master."

 

"Obi-Wan --"

 

"Please, Master -- please don't discount them, at least not at once."

 

Qui-Gon was taken aback. "Padawan, I had no intention --"

 

"You did." Obi-Wan turned his face to Qui-Gon's, and his eyes were wide and serious. "I know how you feel about dreams and visions, Master. I only ask that you listen to me."

 

Chastened, Qui-Gon nodded. "Tell me." He listened as Obi-Wan recounted the horror of his dreams, strange and, to Obi-Wan, terrifying and realistic visions of fear, of tragedy and harsh alien landscapes, of failure and exile. When Obi-Wan had finished, he was quiet for several moments. Finally, Qui-Gon leaned his head against the stone, looking at the peach-colored moon, the largest of the three. "The visions must have been very powerful."

 

"They were." Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan shudder. "Particularly the first one. You were there, Master, as clearly as you are now."

 

"Do you feel as though it's a portent of the future?"

 

"I don't know," Obi-Wan said. He seemed about to say something else, then shook his head. "I don't know."

 

"I've had my own dreams of late, Obi-Wan -- one, in particular..."

 

"The recurring dream," Obi-Wan said. "The one you had on the transport a few nights ago."

 

"Yes." He relayed the dream to Obi-Wan, each of its changing details and nameless terrors.

 

"To have it so often, Master -- doesn't that alarm you? What if it's a warning?" Obi-Wan questioned.

 

"Suppose it is, Obi-Wan. How am I to heed it? Will I even know when the time comes? The future is fluid, Obi-Wan; it is not fixed. There are Jedi that have become mired in visions, unable to escape; eventually they are consumed by them, despite the counsel of others. Reliance on visions and dreams too often leads to inaction, Padawan. My dream is terrifying, yet where would I be if I allowed it to preoccupy my thoughts? I am not denying that your experience was frightening, but I will tell you that dwelling upon it does you no good. Too, I think that you were given some hallucinogenic substance that intensified the vision."

 

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. "I know you're right, Master."

 

Qui-Gon smiled. "But?"

 

Obi-Wan drew his knees up and encircled them with his arms. "The dream I had of your death..." He stopped, lowering his head.

 

Qui-Gon was silent, unexpectedly touched by Obi-Wan's obvious distress. "Padawan...we all have to die some day."

 

Obi-Wan rested his head on his knees. "I know that, Master." His voice was muffled, thick. "I...it's only that I'd never contemplated...I had never thought that you would be absent from my life, and to see it happen before me --"

 

Qui-Gon stroked Obi-Wan's hair, his fingertips grazing the delicate shell of Obi-Wan's ear. "We must live in the now, Obi-Wan. And I never will be absent from your life. Never." He felt sorrow, terror, and exaltation in equal measure. He ached for Obi-Wan's youth and rejoiced -- selfishly -- that his padawan would grieve for him.

 

Obi-Wan sat back, gazing up at the stars scattered across the velvety night sky. Qui-Gon saw, with a sudden twisting of his heart, that the kohl around Obi-Wan's eyes had blurred. He lifted a fingertip to Obi-Wan's cheek, wiping away the moisture there. "Why do you weep, Obi-Wan?" And why, he thought, do I torment myself?

 

"Master," Obi-Wan murmured, "if you were to die now, would you have any regrets?"

 

Qui-Gon withdrew his fingertip from Obi-Wan's cheek. An immediate affirmation sprang to his lips, and he choked it back with the greatest effort. "Would you?" he asked, to give himself time.

 

"Oh, yes," Obi-Wan replied softly. "I would."

 

The night darkened as thick clouds suddenly appeared, blotting out the moonlight. Qui-Gon felt a drop of rain on his leg. He turned to Obi-Wan to tell him that they should go indoors. Obi-Wan was close to him, so close; he could feel the heat and smell the scent of Obi-Wan's skin, could see its texture even in the dark. He felt his own desire, hot, unremitting, as Obi-Wan's lips parted; he yearned to taste those lips, to feel them yielding beneath his mouth.

 

"Obi-Wan." His voice was unfamiliar, hoarse and rasping in his own ears. Upon Obi-Wan's face was a look of pain unlike any Qui-Gon had ever seen. Qui-Gon touched Obi-Wan's cheek again, mystified, strangely hopeful, and yet hardly daring to hope. Tahl's face shimmered and disappeared before him.

 

"It's going to rain," Obi-Wan said.

 

Qui-Gon nodded, and took Obi-Wan's face in his hands. Obi-Wan's eyes opened wide; his lips parted again as though he would speak.

 

"No regrets," Qui-Gon whispered. Slowly, he pressed his lips to Obi-Wan's forehead, to allow Obi-Wan to withdraw. He took one of Obi-Wan's hands and pressed it to his own chest so that Obi-Wan would feel the wild throbbing of his heart.

 

Obi-Wan stared at Qui-Gon silently, then drew Qui-Gon's hand to his own heart.

 

Qui-Gon felt the fluttering pulse beneath his hand. He touched his lips to Obi-Wan's...and felt them yield.


	2. Chapter 2

**********

 

It had been years since the sight of Qui-Gon did not set Obi-Wan's heart to pounding, years since Qui-Gon's eyes upon him did not burn like a brand, and now, as Qui-Gon's lips pressed against his, a single thought echoed through Obi-Wan's mind: at last.

 

They faced one another, kneeling. Obi-Wan closed his eyes as Qui-Gon's mouth -- a mouth he'd known so well, for so long, a mouth that could smile merrily or be pressed in solemnity or sternly thinned, but always remained beautiful -- captured his and conquered it. Obi-Wan's lips parted of their own volition, surrendering to Qui-Gon's touch. He was too astounded to ponder the enormity of the moment, fearful that if he did, the dream would shimmer and dissolve, and he would awaken with only the memory of Qui-Gon's lips on his.

 

His hand -- the hand that had been pressed against Qui-Gon's heart -- drifted up almost timidly, touching the rough, woven fabric of Qui-Gon's shirt, the brushed texture of his jacket. He spread his other hand over Qui-Gon's, holding Qui-Gon's hand to his own chest as he hesitantly explored the unfamiliar costume that clothed his master. He was not an unskilled lover and rarely unsure of himself, but his hand felt curiously clumsy, inexperienced, as though each movement was new. And, in a way, it was; he felt his fingers leaving the reassuring roughness of the jacket and encountering the smooth skin of Qui-Gon's neck, the damp silk of his hair, the faint prickle of his beard, stopping at the pulse below Qui-Gon's jaw.

 

He opened his eyes and drew back in astonishment, his fingertips hovering at that rapid thudding.

 

There was little light left in the sky; the clouds had gathered thick and fast, and Obi-Wan could barely make out his master's features. He felt a raindrop land beside his nose and slide down to his lips. Unthinkingly, he licked the moisture from his lips, tasting with amazing clarity the water's bright metallic flavor.

 

Qui-Gon smiled and, reaching up, brushed the remaining moisture from beside Obi-Wan's nose. "Obi-Wan," he whispered, shaking his head slightly.

 

Obi-Wan, feeling as awkward as an untried youth, enfolded Qui-Gon in his arms, burying his face in Qui-Gon's neck, inhaling the fragrance of salty skin and damp hair -- a dizzying, beguiling scent. Qui-Gon's arms encircled him, and they clung to one another for long moments, silent, pressed against one another. Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon's lips graze his ear, heard a shuddering intake and exhalation of breath.

 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes again in joy as his hands caressed Qui-Gon's broad back. He was desperate to tear off Qui-Gon's clothes and touch Qui-Gon's bare skin with utter abandon, but held himself in check, content -- for now -- to tantalize himself with the sensation of warmth and strength beneath his fingertips.

 

"Master," he murmured, his lips brushing against Qui-Gon's neck. He longed to say that he loved Qui-Gon and had for years -- that Qui-Gon's very existence made him happy, that not a night passed when Qui-Gon's face, the deep thrum of his voice, did not accompany Obi-Wan to sleep, that his love for Garen was eclipsed by the merest thought of Qui-Gon -- but what a burden that would be to his master. Qui-Gon plainly desired Obi-Wan, but it was likely that the love he bore his student was not the same love Obi-Wan bore him.

 

And there was Tahl to consider....

 

Unknowingly, his body became rigid in Qui-Gon's arms.

 

"What is it, Padawan?"

 

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "Master," he began -- not even to speak could he release Qui-Gon; not even the image of Tahl could dislodge him from his master's arms. He felt another cold splash of rain on his hands, and another. "Master --" He could not say it; he would not burden Qui-Gon with an unrequited declaration of love. Instead, he would live in the moment -- in Qui-Gon's beloved moment.

 

He began to kiss Qui-Gon's neck, delicate, tentative kisses, Qui-Gon's skin warm beneath his ministrations. He found Qui-Gon's pulse and kissed that, astounded that Qui-Gon's blood surged so hotly for him. His lips grazed the rough texture of Qui-Gon's beard, and Obi-Wan rubbed his cheek against it, shivering in Qui-Gon's arms. I've dreamt of this for so long, he thought. Oh, Force, so long.

 

Qui-Gon kissed his ear. "Are you cold?"

 

"No," Obi-Wan whispered. "Not cold, Master. Not cold."

 

Qui-Gon's arms tightened around him. "You're shaking, Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan tightened his grasp as well. I love you, he thought. I'm shaking because I love you. "I'm not cold," he repeated softly, and kissed Qui-Gon's cheek. His face burning, he rested his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder, watching raindrops falling from the thick, grey clouds. He felt his organ stirring to life, but hesitated to act swiftly upon his arousal.

 

He felt Qui-Gon's hands upon his arms, pushing him away and holding him at a short distance; bewildered and suddenly -- and perhaps unjustly -- hurt, he looked into Qui-Gon's face, straining to pick out some emotion from those inscrutable features.

 

There was a low rumble of distant thunder, and the rain fell faster now, spattering against Obi-Wan's face and hands and the back of his neck. Breathing hard, he held Qui-Gon's gaze, seeing Qui-Gon's eyes glint in the faint illumination of moonlight.

 

"Master, what about...what about Tahl?" The words were forced out from frozen lips.

 

Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon's sigh, and regretted his words. I should have remained silent, he chided himself. I've ruined any chance I might have had at making love with him. I'm such a fool.

 

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said. "Obi-Wan, how can I --"

 

"No," Obi-Wan said quickly, bowing his head. "Forgive me, Master. I should not have spoken. I'll go back to my room --" He began to rise, but Qui-Gon caught his hands and held them.

 

"Stay, Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice was rough, pleading. "Stay with me."

 

Obi-Wan bowed his head more deeply, glad for the rain that obscured the tear sliding down his cheek. "Yes, Master."

 

"I don't want to force you. There is Garen..."

 

Obi-Wan lifted his head at the pain in Qui-Gon's voice. Was his master guilt-ridden at his infidelity, or was there more behind those broken words? He shook his head. "I am not promised to Garen." Even as he spoke these words, he cursed himself. You sound like you're chastising Qui-Gon, you babbling idiot, he thought furiously. You're sabotaging your own heart's desire.

 

"And I am promised to Tahl. But --"

 

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, Master," he said, placing his fingertips against Qui-Gon's mouth. "Forgive my impertinence."

 

Qui-Gon removed Obi-Wan's hand gently. "Do you want this, Padawan?"

 

More than I've ever wanted anything, Obi-Wan thought, yet he could only nod in response, fearful of saying something to spoil the moment.

 

Qui-Gon's hand came up and touched Obi-Wan's mouth, his chin. "Dear Padawan," he said quietly. He leaned forward, and Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon's arms around him again, bending him back slightly, and Qui-Gon's mouth upon his, hungrier than before. Obi-Wan's arms went round Qui-Gon's neck, pulling him into a tight embrace, folding himself against Qui-Gon's strong body.

 

Qui-Gon's kiss became demanding; his tongue, exploring the inner rim of Obi-Wan's lips, slipped deeper, questing, seeking Obi-Wan's tongue.

 

Obi-Wan complied eagerly, sealing his mouth against Qui-Gon's, breathing him in, twining his tongue around Qui-Gon's, tasting it, sucking on it, dizzy with pleasure and anticipation and feeling as though he could not draw Qui-Gon close enough. His hands tangled in Qui-Gon's hair, his fingers twisting through braided tendrils weighted with crystals.

 

The cold rain fell faster, splashing against Obi-Wan's legs, wetting Qui-Gon's hair. The wind had risen, and from beyond the cliffs Obi-Wan could hear the wild and steady roar of the sea. He drew back to say that perhaps they should go inside, when Qui-Gon's hands slid to the small of his back and then down, cupping his backside and drawing him closer, firmly, yet with slow gentleness. Obi-Wan drew in a quick breath at the sensation of Qui-Gon's hardness against his beneath the woolen kilts and lunged forward, crushing Qui-Gon's mouth under his own.

 

Locked against his master and all lucid thought fleeing his consciousness, he barely noticed that Qui-Gon had moved, easing them to the ground so Qui-Gon lay atop him, his hands still cupping and kneading Obi-Wan's backside. Obi-Wan heard Qui-Gon's breath coming rapid and unsteady as his own while Qui-Gon covered his mouth with kisses.

 

Qui-Gon's hands slid to Obi-Wan's hips, then down his thighs. Obi-Wan heard a rustling of material, and felt cold and rain on his bare thighs as Qui-Gon gathered the thick wool of the kilt and pushed it to Obi-Wan's waist.

 

"Master --"

 

"Padawan." Qui-Gon kissed one thigh, then the other, then his mouth found Obi-Wan's growing hardness and caressed it with his tongue. Obi-Wan cried out, feeling his organ stiffen, his balls tightening in near-pain. His hands reached out blindly, grasping wet handfuls of grass and tearing at it.

 

All at once, Qui-Gon's mouth was on his again, Qui-Gon's body pressed full-length against his. Obi-Wan clasped Qui-Gon to him, shuddering at the texture of the wool against his shaft. He flung one leg around Qui-Gon, trapping him at the hip. "Stay," he moaned, "just for a little while, Master..." Love you, he thought incoherently. Love you, Master.

 

They lay together for a time, motionless, their bodies a pocket of heat in the cold dampness of the night. Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon's mouth below his ear, pressed to his pulse, felt his own heart beating in Qui-Gon's lips, and closed his eyes, overcome. He felt security and peace in his master's arms as well as need and urgency; his fears and worries were diminished to a haze, then nothingness in Qui-Gon's embrace. Something eternal and achingly beautiful welled up in his heart, built of the sweet simplicity of touch. He felt tears gathering on his lashes, and rested his cheek against Qui-Gon's hair.

 

Qui-Gon began to kiss him again, his tongue stealing the rain from Obi-Wan's lips, replacing cold moisture with wet warmth. His hips pressed into Obi-Wan's, rocking forward slightly, and he let out a soft groan that became lost in Obi-Wan's mouth.

 

His forbearance at its end, Obi-Wan reached down, grasping at Qui-Gon's kilt, sliding his hands beneath to caress Qui-Gon's backside, elated to find that beneath the kilt, Qui-Gon was as bare as he was himself. He struggled with the fabric trapped between their bodies, nearly sighing aloud in triumph as he managed to drag up kilt and shirt and felt the hard swell of Qui-Gon's organ against his own. His mouth found the ridge and hollow of Qui-Gon's collarbone, and his teeth nipped at Qui-Gon's neck. His hand slipped inside Qui-Gon's open shirt, caressing one hard nipple.

 

"Obi-Wan -- I can't --" Qui-Gon rose to his knees, pulling Obi-Wan up with him. His hands, his mouth were everywhere, maddening Obi-Wan past rational comprehension. He groaned aloud, sinking to the ground, his back pressed against the massive stone. The rain poured from the sky now, drenching them both, making them shiver in cold and desire.

 

Obi-Wan straddled Qui-Gon, frenzied now in his need. "Master -- inside me --" His hands fumbled awkwardly with Qui-Gon's kilt and shirt. He clamped Qui-Gon's hips between his legs, his knees digging into the wet grass.

 

Qui-Gon helped him, no less clumsy in his own desperation. "Obi-Wan, I haven't anything to --"

 

Obi-Wan shook his head, understanding Qui-Gon's meaning. "Doesn't matter."

 

"I don't want to hurt you," Qui-Gon said, his voice a pained growl as Obi-Wan's hand closed over his organ.

 

Obi-Wan spat into his hand and grasped Qui-Gon again, his hand moving restlessly. There would be no prolonged preparation; he wanted to be possessed, and he wanted it immediately. "Now, Master -- inside me."

 

Qui-Gon groaned, and he took Obi-Wan's hips, pushing up the kilt, lifting him.

 

Obi-Wan, all his muscles taut, his erection quivering, lowered himself with painstaking slowness until he was fully impaled, Qui-Gon's balls pressing against him. They remained motionless for what seemed an eternity; Obi-Wan's hands grasped Qui-Gon's shoulders, his head thrown back in abandon as he felt himself filled.

 

Qui-Gon shifted, and Obi-Wan wanted to howl aloud as the head of Qui-Gon's organ brushed against his prostate. Qui-Gon moved again, rocking forward, then back, closing his hand around Obi-Wan's erection, rubbing his thumb over the tip. Obi-Wan moaned, tightening his body instinctively.

 

Qui-Gon rocked back and forth again, his breath coming in short gasps, moving faster until he was lunging in deep, fierce strokes, his hand urgently pumping Obi-Wan's erection.

 

Obi-Wan's hands tightened on Qui-Gon's shoulders, his teeth grinding, and as he felt the warm rush of Qui-Gon's seed spilling into him, he let out a choked cry and climaxed in shuddering, mindless ecstasy, his semen spurting into Qui-Gon's hand. Rain splashed onto his fevered skin, into his open mouth. He raised himself, withdrawing from Qui-Gon's softening shaft, feeling the trickling wetness of release. He collapsed forward, breathing shakily, resting his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder.

 

Qui-Gon wiped his hand on the wet grass and clasped Obi-Wan close. "Padawan." His voice was blurred, soft below a clamorous roll of thunder.

 

"Master."

 

"We'd better get inside."

 

Obi-Wan smiled against Qui-Gon's jacket. "Too tired."

 

There was a sharp burst of lightning over the sea, and a violent clap of thunder. "Inside, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, sounding amused, if exhausted.

 

Sighing, Obi-Wan rose to his feet, reaching a hand out to Qui-Gon and pulling him up. It was too dark to see one another clearly, but nevertheless Obi-Wan stared intently at Qui-Gon, anxious to see whether Qui-Gon was pleased or upset by what had taken place between them. He watched Qui-Gon stretch and perform an adjustment to the disheveled kilt.

 

Qui-Gon frowned suddenly, looking toward the Hold. Obi-Wan turned, following his gaze, seeing a window in which a faint light burned. No one was at the window. "What's wrong, Master?"

 

"Padawan, I sensed...anger." He put an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders, gathering him close. "Come along -- let's get inside. You're chilled."

 

There was another flash of lightning and more thunder; it sounded closer now. They made their way back to the balcony, closing the doors and pulling the drapes tightly shut. Qui-Gon kindled the fire, and soon a bright blaze flared to life.

 

Obi-Wan tried the doors of his room, then Qui-Gon's. It did no good; they were both locked in, and would be until someone freed them. Truly, it was no different from any other day they'd spent here -- their freedom to come and go as they pleased was very nearly nonexistent -- but this obvious disdain passed beyond their hosts' usual hostility.

 

Obi-Wan wandered back into his own room. Qui-Gon was standing before the fire, warming his hands. He'd taken off the soaking-wet jacket, but the shirt was drenched and clinging to his skin. The trailing end of the kilt dragged on the floor, similarly drenched.

 

Despite Qui-Gon's bedraggled appearance, he was beautiful.

 

Qui-Gon looked up at Obi-Wan. "Padawan," he murmured, stretching out a hand. "Come here."

 

Obi-Wan stepped close to Qui-Gon and took Qui-Gon's hand in his own. He looked at the floor, unable to meet Qui-Gon's eyes. "Master --"

 

"Obi-Wan -- look at me."

 

Obi-Wan looked into Qui-Gon's eyes, darkest blue in the firelight.

 

Qui-Gon touched Obi-Wan's mouth. "Padawan..."

 

"Master." He wanted to reassure Qui-Gon, to say that their encounter need never be spoken of again, that neither Tahl nor Garen need know. It would pain him nearly past bearing, but he would say it for Qui-Gon's sake, to ease the unrest in his master's eyes. "Master -- I love you." He stopped, horrified, wanting to sink into the stone floor. What have I done? he thought wildly, seeing Qui-Gon's eyes widen. What have I done?

 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and, bending forward, touched his lips to Obi-Wan's. He whispered softly, his mouth moving against Obi-Wan's lips. "Obi-Wan -- I love you. With all my heart, I love you."

 

 

**********

 

Edrei stared in silent fury as the two Jedi made their way back to the Hold.

 

"I told you." Ceirn's voice was soft and sweet in her ear. "Do you believe me now?"

 

She wriggled from his grasp. "Leave me alone." She flung herself into a chair and stared into nothingness, her eyes dark with rage.

 

Ceirn dropped to his knees before her chair, resting his arms upon her lap. "You underestimate them at your peril, Edrei. You saw them in battle --" He laughed as Edrei tossed her head. "Don't play games, 'drei -- you enjoyed that as much as I did, I'll wager."

 

"And if I did?"

 

"Don't allow your sight to become clouded by lust," Ceirn replied.

 

Edrei let out a delicate snort of disdain. "I can't believe I'm hearing that from you."

 

"It's true," Ceirn insisted. "Yes, I want Obi-Wan -- but only for pleasure. I'm not so foolish as to believe that he, or anyone who is not of our line, will strengthen the theiris."

 

"They will -- Qui-Gon will," Edrei said, her hands gripping the armrests. "He has the Gift. If the theiris falls --"

 

" -- so do the Thanach," Ceirn finished. "You're foolish, my dear sister." He grasped her hand and kissed it with soft lips. "Let them fall."

 

Edrei tore her hand away. "You have no honor."

 

"Is it honorable to enthrall an innocent man into spending his remaining years keeping a plant alive? It's a living death and you know it well."

 

"He can withstand it," Edrei said. "I've seen it."

 

"You've seen what you wish to see. And he has no regard for you, 'drei -- as you observed just now." Ceirn jerked his head toward the window. "If you weren't watching them closely, you missed much. There's more than lust between those two."

 

Twin spots of color appeared in Edrei's pale cheeks. "I'll have him."

 

"Not if Obi-Wan has anything to say about it."

 

Edrei pushed at Ceirn's hands. "Then do something about that. You were besotted enough to watch him closely -- so besotted that you couldn't foresee the raid."

 

"Nor could you," Ceirn retorted.

 

Edrei smiled. "I did -- and took action. Fian is dead."

 

Ceirn blanched. "You -- you killed Fian?"

 

"She orchestrated the raid. What their purpose was I couldn't tell -- confusion, perhaps, sowing chaos through the feasting, diminishing the confidence of the people. Whatever it was, I fear it succeeded. I will have to wait another day to show Qui-Gon the theiris, and in the meantime its source weakens."

 

Ceirn stood and went to the window, watching the rain beat against the glass. "Its source," he said with soft contempt. "And you killed the healer, Edrei."

 

Edrei leaned back in her chair. "You will be a king in a short time, my brother. It would behoove you to act as one."

 

Ceirn was silent a long time. Finally, he turned to Edrei, staring at her solemnly. "Let me tell you why I was chosen as the successor to the throne of Pralderis. Mother told me many years ago, 'drei; she said that she looked into your heart and saw a deep, burning anger there -- even as a small child it was there, she told me. She said that there were unfulfilled desires in you that would never be satisfied, thirsts that would never be quenched. Such a one, she said, should never become sovereign. She said that you would draw Pralderis to darkness in the guise of honor and family."

 

During this speech Edrei had been still, gathering up the dark green folds of her dress. Her eyes had become unfocused, and the color still burned bright in her cheeks. Now she looked up at Ceirn. "Why are you telling me this?"

 

Ceirn shook his head. "Do you think I haven't been watching you, 'drei? I have; I see your ambitions for what they are. I want you to know that I will give you some of what you desire -- but not all; never all, Edrei, for Pralderis' sake." He lifted her by the hand and drew her into his arms, kissing her.

 

"When did you develop a conscience?" Edrei asked.

 

"I've always had one," Ceirn smiled.

 

"Liar," she said. "You think only of yourself. What did Mother foresee for you?"

 

Ceirn laughed. "I am honest in my greed, 'drei. That was enough for her."

 

"I would have a consort," Edrei whispered. "I would have Qui-Gon." She stared up into Ceirn's face. "Don't deny me that, Ceirn. Don't deny the Thanach that."

 

"Did you see how they clung to one another?" Ceirn asked softly. "And their faces afterward..."

 

"Be silent," Edrei demanded. "Ceirn --"

 

"You shall have Qui-Gon, 'drei, if only for a short while. You cannot keep him forever -- his Council will become suspicious."

 

"What if you were to keep Obi-Wan?"

 

"As a consort? Don't be absurd. Even if he were willing -- which he most assuredly is not -- I would tire of him eventually. I suspect you'll tire of Qui-Gon soon enough."

 

"No," she breathed. "He fascinates me."

 

"You're like a child wishing for the moons."

 

"No."

 

"As you wish," Ceirn shrugged. "You'll have Qui-Gon, and you shall have your theiris. But Pralderis will never be yours."

 

She closed her eyes as his arms wound tightly around her. She felt the Gift surging around them. My dear, strong brother, she thought. I shall have theiris, Qui-Gon, and Pralderis as well -- and you and Qui-Gon will sustain us. I will formulate a plan -- the Senator will help me. And I will show you no mercy, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

 

No mercy at all.

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon drew back, smiling at the stunned visage of his beautiful apprentice. He took Obi-Wan's face in his hands and kissed him again, reeling in exaltation. Obi-Wan opened himself to the kiss, grasping at Qui-Gon's wet shirt. Qui-Gon felt as though his knees would buckle. He slipped one arm swiftly about Obi-Wan's body and pressed him close, leaning against him for strength.

 

Obi-Wan broke the kiss, resting his head against Qui-Gon's shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was touchingly diffident. "Truly, Master?"

 

Qui-Gon bent to kiss Obi-Wan's neck. "Truly," he murmured. He held Obi-Wan at a slight distance and held his gaze.

 

The paint had smeared on Obi-Wan's cheek and around his eyes; now, instead of looking dashing, it merely looked messy, but Obi-Wan's beauty was in no way diminished. It shone from his eyes, from the tentative smile that became radiant with happiness, transforming his face into something wondrous. Qui-Gon basked in the glow of that smile, still scarcely believing his own good fortune. "When?" he asked.

 

Obi-Wan seemed to understand. He shook his head, coloring. "It seems forever now, Master...I don't know when it shifted from admiration to --" He reached up, touching Qui-Gon's lips, appearing amazed at his own audacity. " -- to desire," he said. "I only know that I have spent every moment of the past few years loving you, yearning --"

 

"Why were you silent?" Qui-Gon asked. "Obi-Wan --"

 

Obi-Wan turned, facing the fire. "I was so young, Master," he said. "I feared you would dismiss my desire as foolishness. I was young --"

 

"I did not know, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said softly.

 

"I'd hoped not," Obi-Wan said, laughing a little. Then he sobered. "And there is Tahl, Master. You are pledged to her. I would not come between you -- even now, I would not be an obstacle..."

 

Qui-Gon felt his face grow hot. "And Garen?"

 

Obi-Wan made a helpless gesture. "I love Garen. He is my closest friend. But it's not the same as...as what I feel for you, Master."

 

Stepping forward, Qui-Gon put a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, gently urging him around. "Look at me, Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan looked reluctantly into Qui-Gon's eyes.

 

"Do you know how long I've been unfaithful to Tahl?" At Obi-Wan's widened eyes, he chuckled. "Oh, no -- not physically, Padawan, but here," he said, touching his forehead, "and here." He touched his chest. "How could I remain faithful to Tahl, even in my heart, when my heart lay elsewhere?"

 

"Master..." Obi-Wan was unable to continue.

 

"Obi-Wan, I have shared my life with you -- my little joys and woes, the dangerous and the mundane -- there has scarcely been a day we haven't spent in one another's company. That alone has created an impenetrable bond between us, the relationship between master and apprentice another bond. When each day passed and you grew dearer to me, I accepted it and was grateful. You were and are an exceptional student; I believe, with all my heart, that the Force brought us together. The path to Knighthood is an arduous one, Obi-Wan, and you have borne it with such extraordinary grace --"

 

"Your teaching, Master," Obi-Wan said softly.

 

Qui-Gon smoothed Obi-Wan's wet hair. "If that is true, then I am glad. But I would go far to find such a student as yourself, my padawan."

 

"Then -- it has been some time that you --"

 

"Years in the making," Qui-Gon said. He unpinned the length of kilt from Obi-Wan's jacket and let it fall. Gently, he eased the jacket from Obi-Wan's shoulders, tossing it to a chair. He reached down and unclasped Obi-Wan's belt, placing it atop the jacket. Unencumbered, the kilt slid to the floor at once, and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan traded a quick smile of genuine amusement.

 

Kneeling on the wet fabric pooled around Obi-Wan's feet, Qui-Gon helped to remove Obi-Wan's boots and socks. He rose, facing Obi-Wan who stood only in the wet shirt now, his braid, heavy with stones and leather thongs, limp against his chest. Carefully Qui-Gon untangled the adornments from Obi-Wan's hair, unplaiting the braid, feeling its soft texture, crimped from the arrangement of weaving.

 

"Master," Obi-Wan said, "moments ago I had little hope that you could possibly love me. Now --" He held Qui-Gon close. "Master," he whispered, "how can I please you?"

 

The words shot straight to Qui-Gon's shaft. "Undress me, Padawan." The words were a hoarse plea.

 

Obi-Wan dropped instantly to his knees, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the fastenings of Qui-Gon's boots. Still on his knees, he tugged at Qui-Gon's belt, smiling shakily as it came undone. With an air of barely contained ferocity, he yanked down the kilt and gathered up Qui-Gon's shirt, holding it with one hand as he took Qui-Gon's shaft in the other.

 

"Wait," Qui-Gon rasped, drawing Obi-Wan up, leading him to the bath. He turned on the hot spray and pulled his own shirt off, watching as Obi-Wan did the same. He urged Obi-Wan beneath the spray, shivering in pleasure as the hot water caressed his chilled skin.

 

He took Obi-Wan by the hips and drew him close, kissing him beneath the water, fondling his back, his waist, his bottom -- the glorious heat and warmth of him. Obi-Wan twined his arms round Qui-Gon's neck, making him an entirely willing captive. Their erections rubbed together, maddening; Qui-Gon's hands fastened on Obi-Wan's backside, holding him still. They were motionless for a long time under the hot pulse of the water, clouds of steam billowing up around them. Then, as Qui-Gon was sure that he could endure the strain no longer, Obi-Wan wriggled free, turned, and pressed his palms against the grey stone of the wall, the sleek muscles drawn taut in his outstretched arms as he pushed his hips back towards Qui-Gon.

 

"Again," Obi-Wan said hoarsely. "Take me again."

 

His lust kindled to a roaring flame by the sight of Obi-Wan's avid surrender, Qui-Gon pressed himself against Obi-Wan, all but seizing him, kissing his ear, his rough cheek, then his mouth as Obi-Wan half-turned to kiss him, his tongue like fire. Without preamble, he wedged a thigh between Obi-Wan's legs, spreading them. Then, holding Obi-Wan still, he penetrated Obi-Wan, groaning as his shaft slowly slid inside the tight channel. He reached around and slid his hand down Obi-Wan's chest, over the smoothness of his abdomen, over the curling thatch of hair, and clasped Obi-Wan's straining erection.

 

Obi-Wan moved against him, his muscles taut against Qui-Gon's. He breathed in unsteady gasps, low, helpless cries issuing from his throat. One hand reached up, caressing Qui-Gon's hair; the other splayed against the stone wall, steadying them both.

 

Qui-Gon thrust against Obi-Wan, slick with water and salt-sweat, giving in to the wild impulse of his body. They moved together, their groans mingling, echoing off the high, grey stone walls. Qui-Gon moved with desperate haste, feeling like a barely controlled youth, urgent and needy, as though he could not possess Obi-Wan enough. When he climaxed, entire nebulae burst behind his tightly closed eyelids. A moment later, he heard Obi-Wan cry out, and felt the hot liquid trickling over his hand.

 

They sank to the floor in an untidy tangle, limbs entwined, the spray cleansing the sweat from their bodies.

 

Obi-Wan kissed him; he tasted so sweet.

 

"Obi-Wan."

 

Obi-Wan, rising to his knees, took soap and a cloth and rubbed Qui-Gon's body, massaging sore and tense muscles. "I've yearned to do this," he whispered.

 

Qui-Gon felt utterly boneless. "I didn't know anything could feel so good."

 

Obi-Wan laughed softly, pushing wet hair from Qui-Gon's face. "Wait."

 

Qui-Gon grinned, feeling his energy returning. He pulled Obi-Wan close to kiss him. "No -- I don't think I will."

 

They fell to the wet floor, laughing together. Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan close, loving the feel of him, his tight, compact body, his scent, his joy. He is the reassurance in my dream, he thought in amazed gratitude. I had only to be shown the truth.

 

All coherent thought fled his mind as Obi-Wan drew him into another lingering kiss.

 

**********

 

The Senator steepled his fingertips, staring into darkness as the hologram winked out of existence. After a time, he stood, going to the window of the great star cruiser and looking out into the firmament.

 

Such limitless possibilities....

 

"My Lord."

 

He turned to Umak Leth. "The girl has lusts, Umak," he said softly. "Fancy that. It fairly radiated from her, did it not?"

 

"She is a fool, my Lord."

 

"Yes, Umak, but she's my fool," the Senator smiled. "Pralderis is useless to me, but...but I envision it as a harbor...a retreat. There is some stark beauty to be found there, don't you agree?"

 

Umak folded her arms. "As you say, my Lord."

 

"There's something that girl's not telling us about the flower -- some aspect of its existence that still eludes us," he said, his eyes narrowing. "And I cannot...I do not yet see what it is. But I will, soon enough. That information must be extracted, Umak."

 

Umak glanced at the droid that hovered close to her master's chair, ever ready to deal agony. "Yes, my Lord."

 

"She wants one of the Jedi," he mused. "The master, she said -- not the padawan."

 

"Yes, my Lord."

 

He was quiet for a time. "Another flower to be plucked," he said at last.

 

Umak was silent.

 

The Senator smiled gently, staring out into the glorious void.

 

tbc.....

 

**********

 

It was only a slight scraping -- a soft, almost stealthy scratching noise from above, and nearly inaudible above the roar of the storm that still raged outside -- but it was enough to wake Obi-Wan from a sound slumber. His eyes opened wide, his pupils dilating to compensate for the lack of light in his bedroom, and he listened intently, reaching out through the Force to absorb every nuance of sound in the room.

 

The wind howled and the rain beat fiercely against the glass; the fire crackled agreeably. An antiquated timepiece clicked the moments away in a dark corner of the room. Beside him, Qui-Gon breathed softly in a deep, untroubled sleep. Obi-Wan smiled, then reached out with one hand, parting the weighty velvet bedcurtains and looking out, noting that the storm had become savage; the rain slid down the glass in hard, heavy sheets.

 

The noise, whatever it had been, was not repeated. Wondering if the Force had tried to warn him of danger, or whether he had been deceived by his own ears, Obi-Wan sighed and let the bedcurtains fall shut. He had not mastered all aspects of the Force and worse, was frustrated and often impatient because of it, despite Qui-Gon's calm assurances that mastery would come in time. Qui-Gon's gentle remonstrances usually served to soothe Obi-Wan's restlessness and youthful haste -- until the next obstacle was placed in his way. His impatience too frequently caused him difficulty and sometimes even danger. It was a trait he would have to watch carefully, he knew, if he were ever to reach the level of Knight.

 

He summoned calmness, and the troubling thoughts dissolved like vapor. Turning toward Qui-Gon, he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from Qui-Gon's face. What a simple joy it was to be able to do that. He watched Qui-Gon sleep, his eyes acclimated to the dark just enough to make out the outlines of his master's face and form.

 

Obi-Wan put a hand out and, tentatively, allowed it to rest atop Qui-Gon's flat belly. He savored the warmth of Qui-Gon's skin and the even rise and fall of his breathing. Then, not content with that touch, he lay his head upon Qui-Gon's chest, breathing in his scent.

 

Qui-Gon's hand brushed over Obi-Wan's cheek. "Padawan."

 

Chagrined, Obi-Wan sat up. "I didn't mean to wake you, Master."

 

Qui-Gon drew Obi-Wan down, enfolding him in his arms. "I can't think of a better way to be awakened."

 

Obi-Wan settled into Qui-Gon's embrace, kissing his master's shoulder and snugging his body close to Qui-Gon's warm, bare skin. Comfortable in his own body, Obi-Wan had long outgrown his good-natured despair at the knowledge that Qui-Gon would always tower over him. Now he realized that despite the difference in their stature, they fit together well -- quite well indeed.

 

Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon's hand upon his face, then Qui-Gon's mouth upon his. He returned the kiss in a blissful daze, his organ stirring again. He let his hands, greedy and possessive, roam over Qui-Gon's torso, his hips and flanks.

 

Qui-Gon's hands moved down as well until they grasped Obi-Wan's hips. In a single movement, Qui-Gon rolled Obi-Wan atop himself, his hands sliding up to clasp Obi-Wan's backside.

 

Obi-Wan could feel his master's hardness beneath the tangle of sheets. Still kissing Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan pressed against Qui-Gon's erection with his own, moaning deep in his throat. He began a languid rhythm, rocking slowly against Qui-Gon, his shaft painfully stiff, his balls aching in his need.

 

Qui-Gon struggled with the barrier of the sheets until he succeeded in wrenching them away from between their bodies. His fingers slipped into the cleft of Obi-Wan's buttocks, seeking and finding the sensitive entrance, massaging, stimulating, and finally enflaming Obi-Wan past desire into desperation and helpless frenzy. Obi-Wan bucked and thrust against Qui-Gon, his cries muffled by Qui-Gon's demanding mouth, and came strongly enough to black out for an instant.

 

He sagged atop Qui-Gon, breathing heavily as Qui-Gon stroked his back. After a few moments of drifting, he realized that his master's hardness was still digging into his thigh. He pulled back and slid down Qui-Gon's body. "Master, you didn't -- let me --"

 

"It's fine, Obi-Wan, you don't have to --" Qui-Gon's words ended in a choked groan as Obi-Wan's mouth closed over the head of his organ and began sucking wetly.

 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, concentrating on working his tongue around Qui-Gon's stiff shaft. He drew his tongue up its underside to the crown, circling it. He used one hand to cup Qui-Gon's balls, the other to caress Qui-Gon's organ. Qui-Gon's body tensed, and he climaxed with another low cry, spilling his seed into Obi-Wan's questing mouth.

 

Obi-Wan waited until the tension in Qui-Gon's body had subsided. Then he crawled back into the waiting haven of Qui-Gon's arms, sleepily content to lie belly to belly with his master.

 

"Well," Qui-Gon murmured, "thank you."

 

Obi-Wan laughed. "My pleasure." Impulsively, he kissed Qui-Gon, delighted to feel his master's embrace tighten. He lay his cheek upon Qui-Gon's warm skin, closing his eyes. He yearned to say something beautiful to Qui-Gon, some declaration of devotion, but so profound was his joy that he was unable to form words to speak.

 

Qui-Gon brushed his fingertips against Obi-Wan's temple. "Sleep, Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan smiled in the darkness and slept, trustingly enfolded in Qui-Gon's arms.

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon jolted awake, his heart thumping madly. Drawing a deep breath, he relaxed, letting the last shreds of his nightmare dissipate, borne away by the Force like dry autumn leaves on the wind.

 

"Master -- what is it?"

 

Qui-Gon struggled to force words from a dry throat. "Go back to sleep, Padawan."

 

"It's morning." And it was; Qui-Gon saw dim greyness filtering through the crack of the drawn bedcurtains.

 

Sighing, Qui-Gon rested his forehead against Obi-Wan's. "Just a dream, Obi-Wan." He would not succumb to the fear that even now echoed in his heart; and besides, he had the strong comfort of Obi-Wan to sustain him.

 

"The same one?"

 

"Yes."

 

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment; his hand slipped up to stroke Qui-Gon's cheek. "If there is anything you need, Master, you have only to say the word."

 

"Come closer to me, Padawan." Qui-Gon gathered Obi-Wan into his arms, holding him tightly. He kissed the curve of Obi-Wan's neck, tasting its clean saltiness. They remained still for a long while.

 

The rain still hammered against the glass, and the room had become colder; Qui-Gon could feel it even through the heavy draperies. Obi-Wan was warm, though -- so warm.

 

"Obi-Wan."

 

"Yes, Master?"

 

Qui-Gon hesitated. "There's much to discuss."

 

He felt Obi-Wan tense slightly. "Yes, Master."

 

It was difficult to continue, but Qui-Gon forced himself to do so. "I would prefer that our plans are in order when I must face Tahl."

 

Obi-Wan drew back to look at Qui-Gon. "Then you truly plan to do that."

 

"I don't see how I can do otherwise. Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said quietly, "I want you to share my life -- in all things. I understand there may be doubts and uncertainties, but I want you to know that I love you. I have always loved you, and yet now -- everything has changed, Obi-Wan."

 

"I'd never dared hope for it, Master." Obi-Wan raised a hand, placing it against Qui-Gon's cheek. Qui-Gon pressed Obi-Wan's palm closer with his own hand; his padawan's touch was too precious to abandon.

 

Obi-Wan seemed to search carefully for his next words. "Tahl -- she will be...upset, Master."

 

"Perhaps," Qui-Gon said, "but not without reason. I have known her my whole life, Obi-Wan, and yet I can't imagine how she will react to this news."

 

"I don't want to cause her pain," Obi-Wan whispered.

 

"I will be the one causing her pain, Obi-Wan -- not you," Qui-Gon replied. "Let the burden be mine, love."

 

"I would share your burdens, Master."

 

Qui-Gon kissed Obi-Wan tenderly. He privately feared that Tahl would take the news very badly indeed, but he would not impose that particular burden on Obi-Wan. She would see it as a betrayal -- and she would be right. She would demand to know how it all came about, and he would have no satisfactory answer for her. He loved Obi-Wan. It all seemed so simple....

 

"What about Garen, Padawan? How will he react?"

 

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Not badly, I think. We've both had other partners in the past." Seeing Qui-Gon's stunned reaction,he laughed a little. "Are you surprised, Master?"

 

"Somewhat," Qui-Gon answered.

 

"We'd experiment -- carefully, of course, but as I said, we weren't pledged to one another. Garen's my friend and I love him, but...it's not the same, Master. Not at all."

 

Qui-Gon was surprised to feel the depths of his emotion at Obi-Wan's revelation. "Have you had many other partners?" he asked, attempting a neutral tone.

 

Obi-Wan caressed Qui-Gon's hair, then his mouth. When he spoke, his words were measured, tender. "A handful, but I think I was searching -- no," he amended. "I knew what I wanted -- who I wanted. I thought it...I thought you would never be within my reach."

 

Qui-Gon felt a flush of relief, and a sudden pang of chagrin at his own absurd possessiveness. "I find it difficult to envision you with anyone but myself," he confessed. "If only I'd known --"

 

"There must be a reason it happened -- here, now," Obi-Wan said.

 

Qui-Gon clasped Obi-Wan close. "You're right. We must be grateful for what we have." A sudden rumble of thunder sounded, echoing against the stone walls. Qui-Gon raised Obi-Wan's palm to his lips. "Shall we face the day?"

 

Obi-Wan groaned. "Truthfully, Master, I'd rather not. Tell them we're ill."

 

"You want me to lie?" Qui-Gon asked in mock astonishment.

 

Obi-Wan's grin was positively radiant. "Yes."

 

There was a dull pounding on Obi-Wan's door, and a rattling of chains.

 

Obi-Wan's smile faded. "We're being released," he said with a touch of resentment.

 

"So we are," Qui-Gon remarked dryly. "Watch both sides, Obi-Wan. I intend to announce our withdrawal if we don't receive immediate cooperation."

 

"What sort of reaction do you anticipate, Master?"

 

Reflecting on the astoundingly pleasant incongruity of discussing the minutiae of a mission with his padawan lying naked in his arms, Qui-Gon took a moment to reply. "Those who resent our presence will be happy enough to see us go. Those who wish us to remain should evince some disappointment or anger. The Thanach have some skill at shielding, Obi-Wan, but I think they will hold little in check in this instance."

 

"What makes you say that, Master?"

 

"Just an instinct," Qui-Gon replied. "Last night's events were not anticipated -- not by all. I'm certain of that."

 

Obi-Wan rolled over and parted the bedcurtains. "Not a day for outdoor celebration," he observed.

 

Qui-Gon smiled. "What about last night?"

 

Obi-Wan laughed. "Last night -- that was different." He turned back to Qui-Gon, climbing atop him and kissing him with a thoroughness that left Qui-Gon breathless. "Maybe we can celebrate again this evening."

 

"It would be a wonderful end to what promises to be a rather grim day, Padawan," Qui-Gon replied, trapping Obi-Wan beneath him to deliver a devastating kiss of his own.

 

**********

 

The Thanach -- for Thanach they all were, Obi-Wan realized, and neither side had claimed identifying titles -- were already assembled when the Jedi appeared in the Great Hall. Edrei, Obi-Wan noted, ignored him entirely, smiling at Qui-Gon, and Ceirn smiled at Obi-Wan briefly, then took a deep pull from a silver cup, examining the wood of the table as if it contained fascinating secrets. Varden merely stared at the Jedi impassively. The rest of the assemblage greeted the two with expressions of outright hostility. There was a subdued discomfort in the air, Obi-Wan thought; something, he felt, would be revealed at this meeting.

 

"How gracious of you to join us this morning," General Thanach sneered.

 

"I wasn't aware that we were late," Qui-Gon replied mildly.

 

"We were discussing Ceirn's majority celebration," Edrei said. "Under the circumstances, we feel that it is best not to display outright --"

 

"Ostentation," Ceirn said, lifting his eyes from the table and focusing upon Obi-Wan. "I will be crowned whether or not there is celebrating -- or fighting -- in the streets." His eyes upon Obi-Wan's were clear and guileless, and Obi-Wan nodded politely.

 

Qui-Gon took his seat at the table and gestured for Obi-Wan to do the same. "Then last night's raid was a surprise to all of you."

 

"Naturally it was," Edrei replied, her brow creasing. "Why do you say that?"

 

"Your response to such unexpected chaos was very well-organized," Qui-Gon replied calmly.

 

"Take care, Jedi," General Thanach warned. "You are overstepping your bounds."

 

"I would like to know who the raiders are. What was their purpose in disrupting last night's celebration?" Qui-Gon asked. "What was their purpose in attempting to abduct myself and my padawan?" He paused to take a sip of water. "I'd heard nothing about them prior to last evening."

 

No one spoke. Obi-Wan watched faces carefully, while extending his senses through the Force to discern the emotions of those assembled. There was a growing restlessness, a sense of waiting and of furtive guilt emanating strongly from both sides.

 

"Last night, someone shouted 'Neither collar nor crown,'" Obi-Wan said. "Is there any connection to last night's raid?"

 

"Why does this stripling speak?" a woman demanded at the far end of the table.

 

"This 'stripling,' as you call him, bested me in combat last night," Qui-Gon retorted. "He has been by my side for years, and is a successful negotiator. I suggest you look beyond his youth. Your own sovereign is a young man -- if you cannot trust him to lead you, then I fear for the future of Pralderis."

 

"Hear, hear," Ceirn murmured.

 

"I feel that there has been a withholding of information from us. We cannot help you if you do not help us. Your honesty and candor will only aid your cause, your desire for unity," Qui-Gon said.

 

Again there was only silence. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon exchanged a glance.

 

"Very well," Qui-Gon sighed. "I regret to inform you that Obi-Wan and I are no longer able to serve in the capacity of negotiators. I request that a transport off-planet be provided to us at once."

 

The reaction to this announcement was a low, stunned murmuring;

 

Obi-Wan watched each person in turn as everyone looked surreptitiously to Edrei Thanach, who was quite pale. I am not surprised, he thought. But what does she want?

 

He extended himself through the Force again, feeling the puzzled resentment and anger of those assembled. They want us gone, he thought. They all want us gone. What is happening? He felt a great wave of frustration and let it flow through and out of him with some effort.

 

Edrei stood. "No," she said, clasping her hands in a somewhat dramatic gesture. "I beg you, Master Jinn -- reconsider your decision. You have helped us more than you know already."

 

"I fail to see how," Qui-Gon replied impassively. Obi-Wan hid a smile as Qui-Gon's hand pressed his beneath the table.

 

"It's true," Edrei insisted. "You -- you must realize that. We have not come together in -- too long. And despite what you might think, we are making progress -- are we not?" She nodded encouragingly at those at the table, who responded with unenthusiastic nods in return.

 

Obi-Wan met her eyes; there was raw panic in them, even as she strove to conceal it. Her eyes focused on him, and he was taken aback at the hatred in them. It's directed at me, he thought.

 

"You see, we are in agreement," she said, waving an all-encompassing hand. She sat, looking flustered, agitated. "How can we persuade you to stay?"

 

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I'm afraid it's too late."

 

"No," Ceirn said decisively. "No, we ask -- we beg you to stay. Edrei is right; you have helped, more than you realize."

 

"If we are to stay, we must have your assistance," Qui-Gon said, his voice brooking no dispute. "Tell us who the raiders are, and what their purpose is."

 

Slowly, slender threads of a tale emerged, too scattered to be woven into coherency. The raiders were anti-monarchists. They held a long and bitter resentment toward the rulers of Pralderis. They had been Thanach once, but division and quarrels over leadership had weakened and splintered them. When the last clan wars came, they took to the Borderlands, sabotaging any and all who ventured into their territory. They were too disorganized to make a true show of power --

 

"Their efforts seemed fairly well-organized to me," Qui-Gon remarked.

 

"Luck," General Thanach snorted.

 

"Did you manage to capture any of them?" Qui-Gon asked.

 

"No," General Thanach admitted, his face red.

 

Obi-Wan watched both factions as the narrative continued. Each person seemed to wear a stony, carefully constructed mask, with the exception of the Royal Family. Edrei looked upset, Ceirn bored, and Varden wary.

 

As the morning dragged on -- a long morning of subdued arguing over the renaming of tiny principalities -- Obi-Wan found himself becoming restless. He was relieved when the gong for midday meal rang.

 

The afternoon session of meetings was similarly dull; Obi-Wan found himself impatient to get back to his bedroom, impatient even to be locked in, if only to give him and Qui-Gon some privacy.

 

There was a banquet to be held in the Great Hall that evening, Edrei announced. There would be guests from the mainland, though not, of necessity, the vast numbers of last night's feast.

 

Obi-Wan smiled at Qui-Gon as they both rose from the table. They had a few hours before the banquet; desire was beginning to burn slowly in his blood. He felt Qui-Gon's fingertips brush his. It was better than a spoken promise.

 

Edrei and Ceirn joined them. "I am sorry that you felt...unappreciated, Master Jinn," she said softly.

 

"Not unappreciated -- uninformed," Qui-Gon replied. "I was to meet Fian Thanach last night. I hope she will be at the banquet this evening."

 

"Why did you need to meet with her?" Edrei asked bluntly.

 

"She was aiding me in some research," Qui-Gon replied.

 

"Research?"

 

"Yes," Qui-Gon said. "She was investigating poisons and hallucinogens. I believe that Obi-Wan was given some substance with frightening side effects."

 

Edrei placed a hand on Qui-Gon's arm. "I am sorry -- oh, Master Jinn, I am sorry. Healer Thanach was killed in the raid last night."

 

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon exchanged a stunned glance.

 

"I am sorry," she repeated. Then she smiled, apparently dismissing the healer's unfortunate death from her mind. "Come with me," she said, taking Qui-Gon's arm. "I have something to show you that will, I hope, compensate for our reticence."

 

"May Obi-Wan --" Qui-Gon began, but Edrei led him away swiftly, smiling at Obi-Wan over her shoulder in decided triumph.

 

"Come, Obi-Wan," Ceirn said. "I didn't get to tell you how much you impressed me last night with your skills at swordsmanship. I have an armory that will dazzle you." He put a proprietary arm around Obi-Wan's waist.

 

"The healer," Obi-Wan said. "What happened?"

 

"A stray blaster bolt," Ceirn said. "A tragedy -- she delivered me." He, too, seemed unaffected by the loss.

 

"But --"

 

"Come, Obi-Wan," Ceirn said. "No arguments. I can't bear to hear anything sad or painful right now." He beckoned imperiously to some guards, who immediately flanked them.

 

Stifling a sigh, Obi-Wan let himself be drawn from the hall. It seemed as though his questions, as well as desire, would have to wait.

 

**********

 

 

 

Qui-Gon walked silently beside Edrei through yet another twisting, unfamiliar corridor that sloped steeply downward. He watched the girl carefully; there was an aura of barely contained excitement about her, a nearly childish glee she made no attempt to conceal.

 

"No escorts, Edrei?" Qui-Gon inquired.

 

Edrei's spine stiffened, and her pace slowed for an instant. "No," she said. "I don't need them here."

 

Qui-Gon made no reply to her cryptic comment, suspecting that she had never really needed an escort at all.

 

Edrei paused beside a wall sconce. "Take the torch," she said, gesturing toward the feebly flickering light. "There is no light beyond here."

 

Qui-Gon took the torch and followed the girl down the corridor, which narrowed as they continued their descent. The ceiling was lower here as well; Qui-Gon was obliged to stoop a little to avoid hitting his head. After some time, Qui-Gon felt the air change. "We are below ground?" he asked.

 

"Yes."

 

Now Qui-Gon felt a change in the Force as well. Whatever his earlier feelings about accompanying Edrei on this excursion -- which in truth seemed to interest her not at all -- he now felt a strange sensation of being drawn or beckoned. The Living Force was strong here.

 

The sensation grew stronger; Qui-Gon felt curiously compelled to press onward, faster. A voice within him -- not his own -- seemed to call to him. He reached out, touching the walls as they walked. "Edrei -- who is here? I feel the Force --"

 

"Yes," she replied, her voice hushed. "Soon enough, Qui-Gon. Patience."

 

The ground was level now; they trod on a stone floor worn slippery with time. At last they stopped before a small, unprepossessing door of dark wood. Edrei turned the handle and ushered Qui-Gon inside, relieving him of the torch. "Sit," she said, indicating a low couch.

 

Qui-Gon remained standing. "Edrei, why have you brought me here?" The Living Force pulsed within him; he swore he could feel it singing through his veins, in his mind.

 

She smiled. "I'll show you. Stay here, Qui-Gon," she pleaded, placing a hand on his chest and gently pushing him toward the couch. "Stay. Trust me, please..."

 

Qui-Gon sat, watching as she disappeared, closing the door behind her. After her steps had died away, Qui-Gon took out his lightsaber and ignited it, using its radiant green glow to illuminate the room. Seeing that the couch was the only object in the room, Qui-Gon sighed and disengaged his saber, sitting in the darkness.

 

A surge in the Force brought him to his feet. Someone...hurt, in tremendous pain. He sprinted to the door and pulled it open. He ignited his lightsaber and sprinted to the door, pulling it open and looking both ways down the long corridor. Was it Edrei who was in pain, or was someone else close by?

 

A flickering light appeared from a sharp angle in the corridor -- Edrei, carrying the torch.

 

"I told you to wait," she said. "Qui-Gon, it's easy to lose one's way down here --"

 

"I felt someone in pain," Qui-Gon said shortly.

 

"Yes -- I felt it too," she said. "I hope no one's been injured. There has been too much suffering already."

 

Qui-Gon felt his patience ebbing. "Show me what you must, Edrei." His head was throbbing, the singing continued in his mind, the Living Force was so strong it was very nearly suffocating, and the aftereffects of some unfortunate's suffering still lingered at the outskirts of his consciousness.

 

Without answering, Edrei swept into the room, setting the torch in the wall. She turned to Qui-Gon. "Here it is."

 

Qui-Gon looked dubiously at the small planter of flowers Edrei held in her hand.

 

He shook his head and took a step toward her. "Edrei --" He halted suddenly, and was driven back a step.

 

The flowers emanated the Living Force, Qui-Gon realized. Small, golden, with long, delicate stems, they seemed at first glance utterly commonplace. But they were far from commonplace; as Qui-Gon watched, they seemed to bend toward him as though they recognized an affinity of some kind.

 

This is what beckoned, Qui-Gon thought. He took a step forward, his hand involuntarily outstretched.

 

"Yes," Edrei whispered. "You may touch them. Touch them, Qui-Gon. They know you."

 

The blossoms radiated a fragile, ethereal glow; Qui-Gon hesitated, not wanting to damage them. He felt a peculiar light-headedness, as though the chamber's air had suddenly been depleted. The high singing in his mind continued, a single, sustained note that rang with crystalline clarity.

 

"Go on," Edrei encouraged him softly.

 

A calmness and a profound peace fell over Qui-Gon as he reached out and touched a fingertip to the center of the flower. He looked at his fingertip; it was dusted with shimmering gold powder.

 

"What is it?"

 

"It is called thieris," Edrei said. "It is the reason for your presence on Pralderis, Qui-Gon. It is why I asked your Council to send you here." She plucked a single blossom and handed it to Qui-Gon.

 

"I don't understand."

 

"This is what gives the Thanach strength. Hard to believe, I know," she said, smiling at Qui-Gon's skeptical expression, "but you must believe me. Look at them. Feel them; they're strong in the Gift -- in the Force. When I saw you, Qui-Gon, I knew -- I knew they would recognize you." She touched the center of one flower and reached up, brushing a gold-dusted fingertip across Qui-Gon's mouth. "Lovely," she murmured.

 

"How do they give you strength?"

 

"In time, I'll show you," Edrei said. "For now, be patient with me -- with my people. They're fearful in their isolation. They don't really resent you, Qui-Gon; they resent change and all its unknown terrors. They're good people, obedient people. They only need a proper guide to show them the truth."

 

Qui-Gon's mouth tightened. "Edrei, I don't have time for riddles or games. Tell me what you want from me."

 

Edrei cast her eyes downward. "I need your help."

 

Qui-Gon handed the flower back to Edrei. "Not with the threat of civil war," he said, a strange, suspicious disquiet in his mind. "At least, not with the one we're ostensibly negotiating."

 

"Why do you say that?"

 

Qui-Gon spoke slowly as thought and speech occurred at once. "Our help is unwanted, our suggestions ignored. Yet there is unrest --" He shook his head, suddenly dizzy.

 

"Are you all right?" Edrei took his arm and guided him to the couch. She sat and tugged on his hand. "Qui-Gon, you're pale."

 

Qui-Gon sat. "I'm fine. Edrei, tell me the truth. Are the negotiations a ruse?"

 

In answer, Edrei leaned forward, pressing her lips to Qui-Gon's. Her tongue darted between his lips, eager, demanding.

 

Qui-Gon grasped her hands, which had fastened on the front of his tunic, and held them firmly as he pulled away from her. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, and she smiled at him..

 

"Edrei, please," Qui-Gon said softly. The singing was louder, and his head ached almost unbearably.

 

"I know," she sighed. "You told me days ago. You have a Jedi lover." She gazed at him with flat, narrow eyes.

 

Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon thought, then was amazed at how quickly the thought had leapt to mind. He felt a pang of regret over how he would hurt Tahl very soon.

 

"Yes."

 

"Is she very beautiful?" Edrei's voice sounded distant, hollow.

 

"Very beautiful," Qui-Gon replied, thinking of Obi-Wan's eyes, his lovely, changeable eyes.

 

"More beautiful than I?"

 

Qui-Gon smiled. "We each have a particular beauty, Edrei." He gave her hands a brief squeeze. The headache was worse. "Edrei, I think I need something to eat. My head --" His vision swam, and all at once he felt a dark ripple in the Force.

 

Edrei frowned, looking about as though she felt it as well. "Qui-Gon --"

 

Qui-Gon recoiled as Edrei's face seemed to melt before him. The torch grew brighter, and the room seemed to collapse upon itself. He heard the sea, and felt his breath catch in his chest. An icy splinter of pain lodged itself into his chest, expanding into a freezing agony.

 

He felt Edrei's lips upon his again. "Stay with me," she whispered against his lips. "Share the Gift with me. Don't let anything frighten you."

 

Qui-Gon shook his head. "No." The refusal was futile; he was borne back until he was trapped against the couch. Her mouth was ravenous upon his.

 

The darkness swelled again, enveloping him in a cloak of shadows. He fought against it, striking out, and heard a cry of pain.

 

"Don't be afraid," Edrei's voice said, roughening and deepening. "Be afraid. Be afraid, Jedi. Fear, Jedi -- you are dirt beneath my feet. Be afraid."

 

"I do not fear you," Qui-Gon murmured to no one, though the fear was building deep within him. His chest was tight, constricted with shattering pain, and the singing was intolerable.

 

"Afraid," another voice whispered. "I'm afraid, Master..."

 

"Obi-Wan..."

 

"I'm afraid, Master. Help me."

 

He couldn't see Obi-Wan, but he heard him -- heard his stark terror and felt incredible suffering.

 

"Padawan!"

 

"Master -- save me!"

 

"Where are you, Obi-Wan?" Tears filled his eyes; Obi-Wan was in excruciating pain. "Obi-Wan!"

 

"Master..." The word was a dying whisper.

 

"No!" Qui-Gon tried to run, but the blackness surrounded him completely; he was in a fathomless void, lost. He fell to his knees, the pain in his chest staggering. He saw a faraway light and reached out, then heard a cry that tore along his senses.

 

"Master!"

 

The cry followed him as he plunged headlong into unconsciousness.

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan leaned against his bedroom door, breathing a sigh of relief. Ceirn, accompanied by a full complement of bodyguards, had shown Obi-Wan what seemed to be every ancient, rusting weapon in the Thanach artillery dating back to the beginning of recorded time. Obi-Wan, unable to get Ceirn to discuss anything of import, had resigned himself to the tour, asking polite questions despite his impatience to see Qui-Gon again. But then, that wasn't possible; Edrei had him otherwise occupied. It had taken some time to escape Ceirn, but he had just managed. Now it was close to the supper hour, and he wouldn't be able to be alone with Qui-Gon until much later.

 

Tonight, Obi-Wan consoled himself. Tonight, and endless nights thereafter. Smiling, he walked to the glass doors. The storm was, if anything, more fierce than before; Obi-Wan watched as a flash of lightning illuminated a dark, forbidding cloud.

 

"Jedi."

 

In an instant Obi-Wan had drawn and ignited his lightsaber, and wheeled to face the voice -- the owner of which he had not sensed at all.

 

The speaker was a haggard young man in a rain-drenched cloak. He had wet, straggling hair, a snub, freckled nose, and a fresh cut on one cheek.

 

"Who are you?" Obi-Wan asked. "How did you get in here?"

 

The young man smiled. "The name's Maerin Thanach. You don't have to point that thing at me," he said, nodding at Obi-Wan's lightsaber and holding up his hands. "I'm unarmed this time."

 

"This time? What do you mean?"

 

"You clipped my swoop last night," the man grinned. "You're tough, Jedi."

 

Obi-Wan stared at him suspiciously. "You're a raider?"

 

"That's right. You going to call the guard out?"

 

Obi-Wan hesitated, then deactivated his saber, holding it loosely, but at the ready nevertheless. "How did you get in here?"

 

The young man laughed. "The balcony door was open."

 

Obi-Wan glanced to the door. "You came by way of the cliffs?"

 

Maerin Thanach nodded. "That's exactly it. Thanks for not calling the guard."

 

"I'm not sure why I shouldn't," Obi-Wan said.

 

"Because you've got the right instinct, Jedi. Come outside and speak to me. It's not safe here."

 

Obi-Wan frowned. "I don't think it's very safe out there, either."

 

"It's just me, Jedi," Thanach said, "and these." He produced a pair of liquid cable launchers from the pockets of his cloak.

 

"They're not weapons, so don't slice me in half, all right? You were fairly impressive last night, you and your master both."

 

"What do you want?"

 

"A word. Are you coming or not?" The young man drew his hood up, tucked the launchers back into his pockets, and opened the door, stepping onto the balcony. Obi-Wan pulled his own hood up and followed reluctantly, alert for danger or ambush.

 

The rain pelted them mercilessly, seeming to blow sideways in the wind. Obi-Wan scowled as he followed the young man to one of the stones.

 

"How do you like Pralderian weather?" the young man bellowed.

 

"Get on with it," Obi-Wan said. "What is it that you want?"

 

"I've come to deliver a message, Jedi. You and your master should leave Pralderis at once."

 

Obi-Wan couldn't have agreed more, but he set his chin and folded his arms. "Why?"

 

"Because there's going to be a bloodbath, and you're innocent. Leave before you get killed."

 

Obi-Wan's face became very cold. "I don't consort with terrorists. Excuse me."

 

As Obi-Wan turned to go, the young man grabbed his arm. "I'm no terrorist, Jedi. Ask yourself if you've done any good here -- if this whole business of negotiation doesn't seem a sham to you."

 

Obi-Wan looked the young man in the eye. "Maerin," he said slowly. "I know that name."

 

The young man's face was grim. "Then Master Fian spoke of me."

 

"You're the healer's apprentice?"

 

"Yes."

 

Obi-Wan hesitated, wondering if he should ask the young man about what she'd planned to tell Qui-Gon. But if he were an impostor...

 

"You don't believe me?" Thanach asked. "She showed me the substance those murdering bastards drugged you with, Jedi -- the day before she died."

 

Obi-Wan was stunned. "Then I was given something."

 

"Of course," Maerin Thanach snorted. "Ask that curse of a woman Edrei Thanach what was given to you. Ask her about thieris."

 

"Thieris?"

 

"I'm telling you, Jedi, you've got to leave. We tried to kidnap you last night, but it was only to keep you safe. We don't need innocent outsiders dying in this war."

 

"Why do you rebel?" Obi-Wan asked. "In what way are you oppressed?"

 

The man's face changed. "It's too long a fight, Jedi. We're going to reclaim Pralderis for all of Pralderis -- not only those Thanach with a thirst for power."

 

"You're a Thanach," Obi-Wan pointed out.

 

"Hard to find a city or village without one," the man said. "It's just a name, Jedi. But there's a ruling branch, believe me -- and they've been corrupt too long, using the black arts to gain their ends."

 

"Come inside," Obi-Wan said. "There's too much I don't understand. Please," he said when the young man shook his head. "I am sorry for your loss, truly I am. I only want to know what's happening. I want you to tell all this to my master."

 

"I risked my neck getting in there," the young man said. "I'm not staying, Jedi. I came to deliver a warning, not to chat with you two."

 

"Please," Obi-Wan said, "you must --" He gasped as a wave of darkness, overpowering and ominous, rolled over them, seeming to swallow them whole.

 

The young man frowned. "Something's wrong."

 

Obi-Wan nodded, walking toward the sea, mindful that the edge of the cliff was somewhere close in this swirling fog and rain. "Yes, I --" He wheeled at a sharp cry from the young man, who had pitched forward and lay prone upon the ground. "Maerin!" He ignited his saber and knelt beside the man, using the saber as a torch "Maerin --"

 

There was a hole in Maerin's cloak. Obi-Wan touched it; blood came away on his hand. A projectile weapon, Obi-Wan surmised -- an arrow or dart of some kind.

 

He glanced quickly up at the Hold; he saw nothing suspicious, but knew the shot had to come from there -- either from the window several dozen meters from the ground, or --

 

\-- directly from his own room.

 

Obi-Wan lifted the man, grimacing as Maerin let out a moan. He hefted him over a shoulder, steadying him with the aid of the Force. "I've got you," he assured the man. "Just stay still..."

 

His impulse was to see to the man's injuries outside, but it was too dark, and the rain and wind would surely hamper his efforts.

 

He concentrated and sent a Force-amplified message to Qui-Gon.

 

/Master!/

 

There was no answer but for a swirling confusion. He tried again; it was possible that Qui-Gon could not discern Obi-Wan's alarm in a place where the Force flowed so erratically.

 

/Master! Help me!/

 

A noise from behind startled him; Obi-Wan half-turned to see the bright blue flash of a stun bolt. He staggered, fumbling for his saber, his movements hampered by the stun charge. He held on to his burden with the most concentrated effort, just managing not to drop Maerin.

 

/Master!/

 

A second bolt caught Obi-Wan directly in the chest, and he slumped to the ground, senseless.

 

**********

 

Umak Leth drew her hood up, scowling, as the doors of the ship hissed open, revealing the bleakness of the rain-shattered landscape. "This is hardly the ideal spot for a retreat, my Lord."

 

The Senator glanced at her. "But it is, Leth. Can't you feel the Force here?"

 

"Yes, my Lord."

 

The Senator smiled at her, raising his own hood. "Rain is good for flowers, Leth -- all flowers."

 

She followed him down the ramp, watching him disappear into the night shadows.

 

tbc.....

 

End 11

 

Subject: [m_a] FIC: Eminent Domain (12/?) Part 1 of 2 Date: Mon, 28 Jan 2002 04:07:25 -0000 From: "splix71" To: master_apprentice@yahoogroups.com

 

 

Title: Eminent Domain (12/?)

 

Author: Alex(splix71@yahoo.com)

 

Archive: Master_Apprentice and my site -- The Sublevels -- http://www.credoimprobus.com/alex

 

Category: Action/Adventure, Romance

 

Pairing: Q/O

 

Rating: NC-17

 

Warnings: Some JA characters appear in a non-canon context. Violence. Betrayal. Sexual intrigue. Jedi in peril. Other potentially disturbing and unpleasant content.

 

Disclaimers: All Lucas, all the time.

 

Feedback: Is treasured.

 

Many, many thanks to kimberlite and LaConstance for their support, beta, and friendship.

 

Summary: Power, corruption, and the price of virtue.

 

**********

 

The noise of feasting -- decidedly subdued, but clearly audible, even through the ancient stone walls -- drowned out three sets of footsteps in a nearby passage.

 

Edrei scowled, lifting the torch a bit higher as she walked. To be reduced to escorting these two through the halls -- it was intolerable. She resented their presence, and could not wait for them to be gone. And woe to the Senator, she thought grimly, if he failed to help her achieve her ends. There was so much she needed -- so much that Pralderis could not supply. Those damned raiders had more access to necessary technology than she did, and the Senator had brought no supplies, no weaponry, not even further assurances of help despite her generosity. Edrei had contained her petulant anger with difficulty, reasoning that petulance was unbecoming in one who would be monarch.

 

It was all so infuriating, though; the Senator gave her vague promises and no more. And the woman, his companion -- Edrei hated her, hated her silent, confident demeanor and cold, pitiless grey eyes. She wondered, suddenly, if the woman was the Senator's lover. Certainly there was something between them.

 

"Have you heard of Merr-Sonn Munitions, my dear?" the Senator asked.

 

As always, the Senator's voice was low, pleasant, entirely correct. His Coruscant accent fell gently upon the ear, more precise than Qui-Gon's, lacking the Jedi's soft burr. Qui-Gon's speech patterns were closer to her own, to the Thanach's, and this pleased her in an undefinable way. It seemed a portent, somehow, further evidence of Qui-Gon's compatibility with the Thanach -- with Edrei herself.

 

"I have not, Senator."

 

"I've dealt with them in the past," the Senator said, "and have found them to be most accommodating."

 

Edrei wondered what dealings a senator of the Galactic Republic would have with armaments manufacturers, but left the question unvoiced. "And when can I expect a shipment, Senator? My uncle's troops grow restless."

 

"I have ordered a quantity of arms from Merr-Sonn," the Senator continued pleasantly. "Blasters, cannons, cluster bombs -- I took the liberty of choosing the weapons myself. Your ascendancy to power will be swift."

 

"There was a raid last night," Edrei snapped. "If there is another, there will be a perceived loss of strength, and it will take more bloodshed to achieve our goals. I want a peaceful ascension, or as peaceful as possible. We are poorly armed, Senator; if we have adequate weaponry, excessive force will be unnecessary."

 

"Governing by intimidation," Umak Leth said softly. "You learn quickly, Highness."

 

Edrei refused to answer, or spare the woman a single glance; she ignored the implied contempt in Leth's tone.

 

"She's right, Umak," the Senator said. "The appearance of strength is as important as strength itself."

 

"Exactly," Edrei said, stopping before a door. She turned to the Senator. "You must help me," she said. She would not plead; not for her life, for her planet, for all the riches of the galaxy would she plead. The Senator was correct; the appearance of strength was crucial. "He is powerful, and I would keep him here."

 

The Senator's smile disappeared. "Show me."

 

Edrei opened the door and entered the room, torch outthrust. "He's been unconscious for some time. The theiris has affected him more powerfully than I anticipated. I only need to buy time with him, to keep him here until the theiris has recognized him and entwined itself with his spirit."

 

"Master Jinn," Leth exclaimed softly.

 

Edrei scowled. "You know him?"

 

Leth nodded. She knelt beside Qui-Gon and withdrew a small object from her robe, attaching it to Qui-Gon's neck at the pulse. She connected a tiny datapad to the object and studied it in silence.

 

Edrei watched with irritation. Qui-Gon didn't stir despite Leth's poking and prodding; his face was tranquil in slumber, after his initial distress. It had taken some doing for Edrei to calm him and finally urge him to sleep; she'd been exhausted and trembling with the effort. Now, though, seeing him lying so still, so vulnerable, she felt calm, powerful -- and yes, aroused, she admitted to herself. There had not been time to pleasure herself with him, or to pleasure him, but there soon would be, she promised herself.

 

"Physiology is normal," Leth said. "He's in splendid condition."

 

"Good," the Senator murmured.

 

Edrei's irritation mounted. "I've put him into a deep sleep. He won't awaken for hours."

 

The Senator frowned. "You have?"

 

"That shouldn't affect the tests, my Lord," Leth said, her narrow face glowing green in the light of the datapad. "The Living Force, my Lord -- can you feel it?"

 

The Senator leaned over the still form of Qui-Gon. His hand hovered over Qui-Gon's forehead for a time, then he withdrew it, folding his hands in the sleeves of his robes. "Where is the boy?"

 

"The boy?" Edrei repeated, wondering if the man had meant Ceirn. She'd taken care to see that both Ceirn and Varden were otherwise occupied when she'd gone to meet her guests.

 

"Master..." The Senator looked at Leth.

 

"Jinn," Leth supplied.

 

"Master Jinn's padawan. His apprentice."

 

Edrei shook her head. "He's in his room. He's unconscious, though."

 

The Senator gave her a sharp look. "Unconscious? Not asleep? Did you drug him as well, your Highness?"

 

Edrei was becoming incensed at the impertinence of this pair. "No. He was discovered with a raider. We dispatched the raider; Obi-Wan was stunned and taken to his room."

 

"Obi-Wan," the Senator mused quietly.

 

"You know the Jedi well, Senator -- how do I keep Qui-Gon in thrall?"

 

"Drug him," the Senator suggested.

 

"No. Thieris -- the bond -- requires the host to be conscious."

 

The Senator and Leth exchanged a glance.

 

"Well?" Edrei demanded.

 

Leth detached the object -- a probe or sensor of some kind -- and rose to her feet. She unclipped Qui-Gon's lightsaber and handed it to the Senator. "This will help," she said. "Master Jinn is powerful, but even a Jedi has his limitations. Without his weapon, he must rely on his wits, his strength, and his endurance."

 

"He has all that in abundance," Edrei said.

 

"Nevertheless," Leth said, "you will gain an advantage by disarming him."

 

The Senator examined the weapon silently, and at great length. Presently, he looked up at Edrei "Take us to the boy."

 

Edrei ground her teeth. "Take care, Senator," she said. "I'm not your puppet." She nodded angrily toward Leth, who only gave her the barest hint of a smile.

 

"A thousand pardons, your Highness," the Senator said pleasantly. "Please, I ask you to take us to young Obi-Wan."

 

"What about Qui-Gon?"

 

"You will preserve him carefully, of course," the Senator said. He bent suddenly and retrieved the flower that Qui-Gon had dropped. It had not withered since Edrei had plucked it quite a while ago, and, in fact, seemed more robust than before. "The well-being of theiris clearly depends upon it."

 

Edrei turned and pushed the door open, infuriated for some reason she could not name. Once this man's use was at its end, perhaps she would have him strangled for the sheer pleasure of it.

 

As long as Thanach blood was unspilled, she would kill as many as she had to.

 

**********

 

He felt the girl's anger and impatience, and ignored it blithely. She was no challenge at all; her emotions were simmering on the surface of her consciousness. Her malice might have been burned into the stone walls, visible to all.

 

It was a pity; she had a strong, if crude grasp of the Force, and some skill in shielding, but her anger was evanescent and her impatience counterproductive. Worse, she was the most powerful Force-user that Pralderis had to offer. The Thanach might have been powerful once, but had bred themselves weak. They were all but useless.

 

The Jedi, on the other hand...

 

The Senator allowed himself a small smile, pausing to inhale the delicate scent the theiris exuded. The flower responded well to the Jedi Master; he could all but taste Umak's eagerness to explore the nascent symbiotic relationship that had blossomed, so to speak, between the flower and the Jedi.

 

That suited him well. The Jedi were dirt, and flowers required dirt in order to flourish.

 

He'd sifted through the Jedi's memories, finding old scars, old wounds, guilt, thoughts of betrayal and anguish, pain...and a guarded joy. Then, pain again, and frantic worry, and love. There were thoughts of childhood and his youth, and of battles fought and won, fought and lost -- and again there was a seed of happiness, planted deep -- too deep to extract fully, but exploring it gently, he'd discovered that the Jedi had a vulnerability -- his apprentice, whom he loved dearly.

 

The Senator had smiled to himself then. Such was always the case; the strong Jedi protected the untrained, not allowing them to be accessible to the enemy, in their innocence. That last pair had been a pleasure to watch as they slowly disintegrated before him; first the padawan, then the master. This, too, would be a pleasure.

 

He walked the cold stones to the bed on which a young man lay unconscious, somewhere between utter insensibility and fitful sleep. His forehead furrowed as the Senator approached, and the Senator extended the Force, effortlessly soothing the young man into a heavy slumber.

 

/Sleep, child. That's it./

 

He sat on the bed beside the boy, his eyes softening as he watched the boy's chest rise and fall with deep, regular breaths. He reached out and placed a hand on the boy's chest, his fingertips grazing soft skin beneath the young Jedi's tunic.

 

Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

 

The boy was enticing in his youthful beauty; even asleep, he fairly radiated clarity of purpose. He was firm in his devotion to the Order, delightfully confident in his own skill and stamina.

 

The Senator probed more deeply, quieting the young man's sudden alarm at the Senator's intrusion.

 

/Sleep, lovely boy./

 

The Senator began to explore Obi-Wan's memories. There were far fewer than the master's, and far less tainted by pain or suffering. That was well; it gave just as much pleasure to torment an innocent young mind as well as a mind beset with old griefs.

 

The Senator examined the boy's recent horrors. The Senator smiled; he sensed prescience, and had not sensed it in Jinn. He went past the memories, becoming excited. What possibility lay in this boy! He would commune with him soon...but it was first necessary to probe to the core of Obi-Wan's being, if at all possible.

 

It was. At the core of Obi-Wan's being lay Jinn. He respected his master and... Ah. He loved his master.

 

Obi-Wan moaned and struck out at something he could not see. The Senator caught his hands, folding them over his chest.

 

"Wonderful," the Senator whispered. This new relationship between master and padawan was recent -- very recent indeed, he thought. Obi-Wan was not as skilled at shielding -- Jinn, even in the depths of unconsciousness, guarded the core of his being -- in which lay Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan could not, or was naive and would not.

 

It was enough for now.

 

He rose to his feet, taking the boy's lightsaber and holding it close to his chest. He smiled at Edrei.

 

"I can help you with Master Jinn, your Highness -- I promise you."

 

He would test them both; but it was the boy that held his attention.

 

**********

 

**********

 

He heard a voice, but it was faraway, a dull, impertinent muttering, indistinct and vaguely annoying against the soft counterpoint of the rain and thunder. He brushed a hand in dismissal, but the muttering did not cease. There was a light shimmering before his eyes; he blinked, and the light expanded, dazzling his eyes and misting them.

 

The muttering sharpened into clarity, becoming high-pitched and feminine. "Qui-Gon!"

 

"No."

 

"Master Jinn, please!" A hand fell upon his shoulder, and he grasped it tightly.

 

"Padawan -- "

 

"Master Jinn -- Master Jinn, you're hurting me."

 

Qui-Gon reached out blindly, and a small, soft hand slipped into his free one. "Padawan."

 

"Master Jinn, please -- " The hands twisted, and he released them. The feminine voice spoke again, ringing with authority. "Go to the mainland at once -- fetch a healer. Now. Now!" The voice was softened, and close to his ear now. "Qui-Gon -- it's Edrei. Please, speak to me."

 

"Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon's vision dimmed again, and again consciousness was obliterated.

 

He came to in his bedroom, Edrei sitting beside him, holding his hand, her eyes overbright with tears.

 

"Edrei," he murmured. "What's happened?"

 

Edrei dabbed at her eyes with a gossamer silk kerchief. "Oh, Qui-Gon -- you frightened me. You ran off like a madman -- I had to follow you. You collapsed, and I had you brought back here."

 

Qui-Gon felt a heavy, oppressive weariness permeating his entire body. He touched his forehead, wincing at the lingering aftermath of splintering pain. "I can't remember anything."

 

"I've never seen anyone so agitated," Edrei said. "I was afraid you'd injure yourself."

 

"What happened? I can't -- Obi-Wan," he gasped, sitting up and nearly doubling over at the nauseating bolt of pain that seemed to shoot through his temples into his brain. He straightened with extreme effort. "Obi-Wan," he said, struggling out of bed. "Where is he?" He had the dimmest memory of Obi-Wan in pain -- but had Obi-Wan been with him?

 

"Please, Qui-Gon," Edrei cried, trying and failing to push him back onto the bed.

 

"I must find Obi-Wan." His face hard, Qui-Gon place firm hands on the girl's shoulders, all but pushing her to one side and striding toward the door.

 

"He's sleeping, Qui-Gon."

 

Qui-Gon changed direction mid-pace, heading for the bath. Edrei darted in front of him, blocking his way.

 

"Qui-Gon -- you've been out for hours. The banquet's long past over. Obi-Wan's asleep. You shouldn't disturb --"

 

"Step aside, your Highness." Qui-Gon's voice was soft, but unmistakably commanding. When Edrei would not move, Qui-Gon folded his arms, his eyes cold. "I insist upon it, your Highness."

 

Edrei sighed and moved to one side, her face mutinous. Too worried and distracted to apologize, Qui-Gon brushed past her and through the bath, opening Obi-Wan's door, his heart pounding unsteadily in his chest.

 

Obi-Wan lay asleep on his bed, fully dressed, his robe disordered, twined around his knees. Qui-Gon's heart twisted in an agony of relief.

 

"You see," Edrei said softly.

 

An absurdity fell from Qui-Gon's lips as he turned back to Edrei. "Has he eaten?"

 

"He --" Edrei seemed to struggle to form words. "I was with you during the banquet, Qui-Gon. I don't know whether he ate or not."

 

Qui-Gon crossed the room, ignoring the dull pain that still throbbed in his temples. He sank to the bed, searching for signs of distress upon his padawan's face. There were none; Obi-Wan slept peacefully, his mouth slightly slack. Qui-Gon could not resist reaching out and touching a fingertip to Obi-Wan's lower lip.

 

"You shouldn't disturb him." Edrei's voice was sharp.

 

Qui-Gon rose from the bed and faced the girl, who'd come to the foot of Obi-Wan's bed and was staring at his sleeping form with dark, unfathomable eyes. "Edrei. Edrei, look at me."

 

Edrei, with obvious reluctance, wrenched her gaze from Obi-Wan.

 

"Is this how you treat all your guests?"

 

Edrei's eyes widened. "I don't know what you mean."

 

"The flower."

 

Edrei shook her head. "Qui-Gon, I --"

 

"Don't lie to me," Qui-Gon said sternly. "I remember, Edrei. That flower is strong in the Living Force. Too, it contains some hallucinogenic properties, does it not? Is that the substance that was given to my padawan?"

 

Edrei's face crumpled like a child's. "It was Ceirn," she whispered. "Ceirn gave it to him. I would not have had that happen. I showed you the flower of my own free will, and I am sorry -- I am sorry it affected you so profoundly. My intent was not to deceive, Qui-Gon."

 

Qui-Gon folded his arms. The girl seemed contrite, but still... "Your brother gave Obi-Wan the --"

 

"Theiris."

 

"Theiris," Qui-Gon repeated. "Ceirn gave Obi-Wan the theiris twice." His heart hardened against the devious young man. He had been right not to trust Ceirn.

 

"I did not know," Edrei said, "until after the second time. You must believe me, Qui-Gon -- I needed you to see the flower, to see what it is, before I told you the truth."

 

Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What truth?"

 

Edrei's eyes fastened upon the floor. "The truth about your presence here."

 

"My patience is wearing thin, Highness," Qui-Gon said. "If you have something to say, then say it."

 

Haltingly, Edrei told him of the flower -- that it was the Gift -- the Living Force, Qui-Gon thought -- in physical manifestation, that it had grown on the island for centuries, carefully tended by generation after generation of Thanach. "It shows us the future," Edrei said earnestly.

 

"The future is not fixed," Qui-Gon frowned.

 

"It is," Edrei insisted. "The theiris shows us what will be. But we -- the Thanach -- have dwindled in number, and in strength, and with it, the theiris. Pralderis suffers for this loss."

 

"Tell me," Qui-Gon said, "the threat of civil unrest -- these meetings -- were a hoax, were they not?"

 

"Yes," Edrei whispered, her eyes tearing.

 

"But there is a real rebellion."

 

"Yes. But I must explain --"

 

"No explanation is necessary," Qui-Gon said shortly. "We'll be leaving at once."

 

As Qui-Gon turned to waken Obi-Wan, Edrei clutched his arm, holding it tightly. "No! Qui-Gon, please -- please listen to me. We need your help. The theiris is dying. They will become extinct. Please --"

 

Qui-Gon's eyes were hard and unforgiving. "I dislike deception. And you need a scientist, not a Jedi knight."

 

"Please listen to me," Edrei begged. "Only the Jedi can help us."

 

"Why do you believe that?" Qui-Gon asked, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

 

"We have the Gift. The Jedi have the Gift. It is the only thing that can restore the theiris and return our strength."

 

"How does the flower strengthen you?"

 

"Qui-Gon," Edrei shook her head. "You are a Jedi -- you are a powerful being, strong with the Gift. Can you not envision the bounties that such a power would bring you? We can protect our people with the theiris. Storms, famine, familial unrest -- we would have been unprepared but for the theiris."

 

"Jedi do not seek power," Qui-Gon said coldly. "I do not equate leadership with domination, and I would not use the term 'protection' lightly. If you and your family are using your gifts for personal and material gain, Edrei, then I am saddened for you, and I fear for your people. I cannot, in conscience, aid you in your quest. I begin to see from where the true rebellion stems."

 

Tears had formed in Edrei's eyes. "Qui-Gon, how can I --" She broke off as Obi-Wan stirred, murmuring in his sleep. "Your apprentice awakens," she said.

 

Qui-Gon dropped beside the bed, feeling not a little remorse. He had been hard on Obi-Wan, overly stern, not knowing the effects of the flower. Qui-Gon's own experience with the drug had been terrifying; what must Obi-Wan, with his stronger connection to the Unifying Force, have felt? "Padawan," he said softly, smoothing Obi-Wan's mussed, damp hair.

 

"Master," Obi-Wan said sleepily, then struggled to sit up. "Maerin," he gasped.

 

"What's wrong?" Qui-Gon frowned.

 

Obi-Wan looked around. "Maerin Thanach, Master --" He caught sight of Edrei, and his expression became watchful. "The healer's apprentice, Master. Where is he?"

 

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, grasping Obi-Wan's hand. "Obi-Wan, I don't know what you mean."

 

Obi-Wan calmed himself with visible effort. "The healer's apprentice, Master. He was here -- someone shot at him. He was injured, so I lifted him to carry him inside --"

 

"I know no one named Maerin Thanach," Edrei said. "What are you talking about?"

 

Obi-Wan looked at Edrei, then at Qui-Gon.

 

"Was he given more theiris?" Qui-Gon demanded.

 

"I don't know," Edrei said, walking to the doors.

 

"I saw him, Master." Obi-Wan's voice was low, tense. "We were outside."

 

"How could you have seen anyone?" Edrei asked with a touch of scorn. "The doors are locked from the outside."

 

"Someone must have carried me inside," Obi-Wan said, his eyes still watchful upon Edrei.

 

"Lie down, Padawan," Qui-Gon said.

 

Obi-Wan frowned. "I'm fine, Master. What's happening?"

 

Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan's hand a reassuring squeeze and rose to face Edrei. "Why did you find it necessary to deceive me? Why did you not simply tell the truth at the outset of this mission?"

 

"I feared you wouldn't help us."

 

"Did you foresee that?" Qui-Gon asked sharply.

 

"Please, Qui-Gon," Edrei begged, "did you not see how the flowers responded to you? Does the flower not even arouse your curiosity? You felt its pull, its influence. Only someone strong in the Gift can help us. You must help us."

 

"We will not," Qui-Gon said. "We wish to leave at once."

 

Edrei sighed. "If you insist, then I cannot deny you. There is a transport departing off-planet in the morning. You may leave with that, if you like -- but I wish you would not. Besides, I've sent for a healer --"

 

"We'll be leaving on the transport in the morning." Qui-Gon folded his arms and stared at Edrei. He could all but taste Obi-Wan's bewilderment, but Edrei must be dealt with first.

 

"Very well," Edrei sighed. "I bid you good night, Qui-Gon." She turned and left, her shoulders hunched in dejection.

 

Qui-Gon watched her leave before he turned to clasp Obi-Wan in his arms. He had a feeling, vague yet persistent, of foreboding. It is the flower, he told himself. It must be.

 

**********

 

When Obi-Wan tried to stand, he felt his knees buckle; Qui-Gon apparently felt it too, for he eased Obi-Wan to the bed and knelt beside it, his face creased with concern. "Padawan, what's wrong?"

 

"The stun charge," Obi-Wan said ruefully. "Whoever hit me did it twice. I'm still numb."

 

"Stun charge? Then you didn't --"

 

"Dream it?" Obi-Wan smiled grimly. "I only wish I had, Master." Quickly, he related his experience to Qui-Gon. "I believed him, Master," he said. "And he said Edrei had given me a drug --"

 

"Edrei said it was Ceirn," Qui-Gon said. "But she may have been lying; I sense deception at every turn, Padawan. You were indeed given a drug." He told Obi-Wan about the theiris. "We were tricked into coming here, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon concluded. "We're leaving tomorrow."

 

Obi-Wan touched Qui-Gon's face. "Are you all right, Master?"

 

Qui-Gon turned his head to kiss Obi-Wan's palm. "Never better." Sobering, Qui-Gon asked, "The young man -- was he dead?"

 

Obi-Wan shook his head. "He was seriously injured, Master. I fear he's in the hands of the Thanach now."

 

Qui-Gon frowned. "This rebellion may be warranted, Padawan. I suspect that the Thanach govern using brute strength, deception, and fear as weapons."

 

"They may have killed Maerin, then," Obi-Wan said.

 

"Or worse."

 

They looked at one another, then rose as one. Obi-Wan's hand slid down to grasp his lightsaber and encountered only the rough fabric of his tunic. "Master -- my lightsaber -- it's gone."

 

"As is mine," Qui-Gon said. "We were both unconscious, Padawan -- they were taken from us. Never mind -- we'll have to get along without them." Swiftly, he went to the door, Obi-Wan following, ignoring the numbness in his body as best he could.

 

The door was locked from without; pulling and pushing yielded no results, and even using the Force, they were unable to open the lock.

 

Obi-Wan was about to thump a fist against the door in frustration when Qui-Gon caught his hand.

 

"Stealth, Padawan," Qui-Gon cautioned. "We'll find another way out."

 

They searched the three adjoining rooms for hidden doors, passages, entrances, and found nothing.

 

"It's hopeless," Obi-Wan said, sinking to the bed. "We're trapped. And I have a feeling that they don't care if we're on that transport or not."

 

"My very thoughts," Qui-Gon said grimly, striding to the fireplace and picking up a tall metal candlestick. He doffed his robe and wrapped a sleeve around it, then, moving to the glass doors, used the muffled candlestick to smash through the glass. A spray of rain carried in on a gust of wind spattered on the floor. Qui-Gon fumbled with the lock until it gave with a groan.

 

"Ingenious," Obi-Wan grinned.

 

Qui-Gon smiled and shook the glass from his robe. He drew Obi-Wan into his arms. "Are you strong enough to walk, Padawan? I'm certain there's another way in from the outside." Without waiting for an answer, he kissed Obi-Wan, holding him tightly.

 

Obi-Wan nodded, breathless. "I'll be fine. Master -- without our lightsabers --"

 

"Stealth, Padawan." Qui-Gon kissed Obi-Wan again. "Come along. If you find yourself weakening, tell me."

 

Obi-Wan smiled, squeezing Qui-Gon's hand. "I'll be fine, Master -- truly."

 

They stepped out into the rainy, windswept night.

 

**********

 

Umak stood swathed in shadow beside the Senator and Einan Thanach, watching as the Thanach girl spoke to the holorecorder that glowed with a dim, wavering blue light.

 

Edrei Thanach, for all her petty and selfish tendencies, was an excellent dissembler; her voice shook and tears trembled on her lashes. "Noble Jedi," she quavered, "it is with a heavy heart that I bring you news of great calamity. I regret -- I regret to inform you that Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his apprentice Obi-Wan Kenobi were lost in a tragic misadventure. Our civil disputes have grown in intensity despite their best efforts, and during a raid, they -- they lost their lives in the line of duty." She clutched two lightsabers in her hands, tears now freely spilling down her cheeks. "I have their weapons, which I will return to you, along with their remains. The pyre is our funeral custom, noble Jedi, as I understand it is yours. We hope that we have not displeased you by giving them a warrior's farewell.

 

"They served us bravely, and we cannot, in conscience, ask more Jedi to risk themselves needlessly. We will resolve our own conflict. We cannot adequately express our sorrow for your loss, and we humbly beg your forgiveness for their deaths." Edrei bowed her head and lapsed into silence. The holorecorder blinked off.

 

"Well done, my dear," the Senator said.

 

Edrei tossed her head. "Get rid of these," she said, thrusting the sabers into Umak's hands. Umak lifted a brow, but said nothing, tucking the sabers into her cloak. "He wishes to leave tomorrow morning. How can we stop him?"

 

The Senator tapped a finger against his mouth. "Take the boy into custody," he said. "Jinn will not leave if it means his apprentice must remain as a hostage. And I would speak to the boy," he added quietly.

 

Edrei nodded and gestured to General Thanach. "See that it's done, Uncle." The general nodded and left the room.

 

Umak drifted out of the room, walking down the hall to another room with a golden glow. She examined the flowers dispassionately, her glance flicking to the huddled form fastened to the wall by a length of chain. She sank into a crouch, touching the unfortunate's shoulder.

 

The form turned, and Umak saw a white face, what might have once been the face of a handsome human male, and blank, utterly empty eyes. The eyes focused on her for a moment and then wandered past, seeing nothing -- or everything, Umak mused.

 

"So this is Master Jinn's fate," she whispered.

 

"You object?"

 

Umak rose and faced the speaker. "I object to all waste, my Lord. There must be another way to sustain the plant."

 

"Well," the Senator said softly, "that's why you're here, Umak."

 

"Yes, my Lord."

 

The Senator's face glowed a sickly yellow in the golden translucence of the flowers. "I would have this refined, Umak. We will stay as long as we must." He held a small tumbler half-filled with golden liquid, swirling it about in his hand.

 

"I am prepared for that, my Lord."

 

"Good."

 

"Senator." The girl's voice was breathless, tense. "They're gone."

 

"What did you say?"

 

Umak, who had grown used to the Senator's ominous and often frightening presence, could not suppress a shudder at the eerie calm in his voice.

 

"They're gone," the girl said, her tone half-hysterical. "They smashed the door. I don't know how they got past the guards -- past the cliffs --" She gestured wildly, glaring at General Thanach, who looked furious.

 

The Senator's voice was even calmer than before. "I want them found."

 

Edrei scowled. "You want? How dare you --" She stopped, her face stunned, one hand flying to her throat.

 

The Senator advanced on her slowly. "Perhaps you didn't hear me correctly. I want them found. I want them unharmed. Do you understand me?"

 

The girl's eyes bulged in terror, and she clawed desperately at her throat. The general lunged forward, and Umak summoned the Force, shoving him against the wall. The man slid to the floor in an unruly heap.

 

The Senator released the girl, who sagged against the wall, staring at him and Umak with realization dawning in her dark eyes.

 

"Who are you?" she gasped.

 

"Find them," the Senator said. "Bring them before me."

 

Edrei's gaze slid to the recovering general. "Do it." As the general scurried from the room, the girl rose to stand before the Senator. "How did you do that?"

 

The Senator looked at her calmly. "That, my dear, is the least of my gifts."

 

Fascination and terror vied for dominance in the girl's eyes. "You have the Gift as well," she breathed. "Teach me."

 

Umak almost respected the girl at that moment. Certainly she didn't lack for raw courage.

 

The Senator's mouth curved in a smile that to most would seem benevolent. "Bring me the Jedi, my dear. Then there will be lessons for you. Go now."

 

Umak turned away, looking at the flowers.

 

"Master Jinn," the Senator said softly. "Padawan Kenobi."

 

"Yes, my Lord."

 

The Senator reached out, touching a fingertip to the golden pollen. "I want them found, Leth. The boy...he will see the truth for me." The Senator touched the tip of his tongue to his finger. "Sweet, lovely boy."

 

Umak did not reply.

 

 

 

**********

 

"...beg your forgiveness for their deaths."

 

The hologram flickered, froze, and then dissolved into nothingness.

 

Mace Windu stood for several long moments before the expanse of transparisteel that overlooked the seventy-eighth level meditation garden, his hands clasped behind his back, unable -- for now -- to speak to Tahl, who sat in stunned silence, absorbing the news of Qui-Gon's death.

 

When at last Tahl spoke, her voice was muted, choked with tears. "Mace, I did not...I did not sense his passage."

 

"Nor did I." No one had, he thought -- not Qui-Gon's death, nor Padawan Kenobi's. "Tahl, it is not altogether uncommon not to feel a Jedi's passage. There have been times --"

 

"I would have felt something," Tahl insisted, her mouth drawn in pain. "And Qui-Gon --" She stopped, hiding her face in her hands. She emitted a soft cry, and her shoulders shook with weeping.

 

"Tahl --" Mace was at her side at once, lending what comfort he could. She clung to him for a time, crying. Mace held her, stroked her back, and was silent. Qui-Gon and his padawan dead -- inconceivable.

 

He had spent hours in fruitless meditation before seeking out Tahl. There were a thousand things that he could have said to her -- there is no death, there is the Force, we must accept our destiny -- come what may, our strength lies not in the flesh but in the spirit -- but in the face of Qui-Gon's death, words were trivial, and even Jedi needed time to mourn.

 

Tahl finally straightened, her sightless eyes awash in tears.

 

"I am sorry, Tahl."

 

She shook her head. "Does Garen know?"

 

"Padawan Muln is on a flight rotation," Mace replied. "He'll be given orders to return home. We will tell him when he arrives."

 

"The Pralderians should have thought of our funeral customs first," Tahl said, faint bitterness edging her tone.

 

"They were conferring an honor," Mace said.

 

Tahl was silent for a time. "I would like to have Qui-Gon's lightsaber when it is returned," she finally said.

 

"If you wish."

 

"I cannot believe that it's true," Tahl whispered. "Mace, is it not possible --"

 

Mace lay a gentle hand on Tahl's arm. "Tahl -- I can arrange for an investigation if you like. I see no reason to doubt them, though."

 

"No. I don't know," Tahl faltered. "Mace -- let me be for a while."

 

Mace rose to his feet with none of his customary grace. Hesitating, he touched the sleeve of Tahl's robe. "You are not alone in your grief, Tahl," he said softly. "Know that, if nothing else. If there is anything that I can do --"

 

"I will tell you, of course," Tahl replied. "Mace, please --"

 

Mace pressed her arm in reassurance and silently left the room. He made his way to the Council Chamber, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor and walls. He spied a diminutive figure standing in front of the window, gazing at the evening traffic against the crimson sky.

 

Mace stopped beside the figure, who stood in an attitude of forlorn contemplation, pointed ears drooping. They remained silent for a time.

 

"You have searched," he said at length.

 

Yoda nodded sadly. "And found nothing."

 

"Tahl grieves," Mace said. "As will Garen Muln."

 

"We all grieve. Great loss to the Jedi," Yoda replied.

 

"Then they are truly dead."

 

"Sense them alive I cannot," Yoda said. "Sense them dead I cannot."

 

"I want those remains examined," Mace said.

 

Yoda did not respond, but watched the red sky turn slowly to black.

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan darted a glance at the guards posted along the walls of the Hold and slid back into the concealing shadows, cold rain splashing onto his robe. "Don't they ever leave?" he complained softly.

 

One corner of Qui-Gon's mouth twitched. "Apparently not."

 

"There are only seven of them, Master."

 

Qui-Gon peered around the corner. "They have energy weapons," he said. "I don't want to take unnecessary risks." He saw Obi-Wan's scowl from within the depths of the concealing hood and smiled broadly. "I've only spent one night with you, Padawan. It would be a shame for us not to stay alive to spend many more nights together, wouldn't it?"

 

Obi-Wan's quick, infectious flash of a grin was like a sun emerging from a sky thick with clouds. "Yes. That would be a dreadful calamity indeed, Master. Then what are we to do?"

 

"It would be logical to assume that Maerin is being held below ground."

 

"Why is that logical, Master?"

 

Qui-Gon shrugged. "Most dungeons are below ground." As is the theiris, he thought -- and was stunned at the swiftness of the notion, as though it had been waiting to be voiced. He had a powerful urge to see that flower again, to touch it and watch it bend toward him. It truly did seem to recognize him, somehow --

 

"Perhaps," Obi-Wan frowned, interrupting Qui-Gon's wandering thoughts. "But we don't know enough about the Hold to make any kind of accurate assessment. We've been escorted everywhere, and even then our routes have been meandering, to say the least."

 

Qui-Gon glanced up at the soaring walls. "The shape of the Hold --"

 

"Is hexagonal," Obi-Wan finished.

 

"You're sure?"

 

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Mathematics don't lie, Master." Briefly, he sketched out the details of what he'd been able to glean from his observations.

 

"Very good," Qui-Gon said approvingly.

 

Obi-Wan smiled. "There must be a center -- a core of some kind. It would be most secure. They do fear the raiders, I think. And Ceirn told me that the family won't sleep on the outskirts of the Hold."

 

"That's sensible," Qui-Gon remarked. "So your conjecture is that Maerin is in the center of the Hold?"

 

"Conjecture, yes," Obi-Wan nodded.

 

"And I propose that he is being held below ground."

 

"So how do we get there?"

 

Qui-Gon reached into his utility belt. "Do you have your cable launcher?" He glanced up again, seeing lights in the visible windows. "Going up would be unwise -- we'd be spotted at once."

 

"Yes. Are you -- down the cliffs, Master?"

 

"That's how Maerin got to the Hold, isn't it?"

 

"That's true," Obi-Wan said. He smiled at Qui-Gon. "What makes you think that there's an entrance below?"

 

Qui-Gon returned the smile. "Conjecture, Padawan -- and we're fast running out of alternatives." He swept Obi-Wan into his arms for a quick, but passionate kiss. "Come on."

 

They made silently for the cliffs, well-concealed in their robes and under cover of darkness and rain. It was the work of but a few moments to secure their cable launchers to the lip of the cliff.

 

"You're lighter," Qui-Gon said. "You first."

 

Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan plunged twenty meters down into darkness. He immediately followed, his body thumping into Obi-Wan who clung precariously to a small outcropping, his feet tucked into uneven niches in the rock.

 

"Ouch."

 

"Sorry." Qui-Gon found a foothold and caught Obi-Wan around the waist, holding him tightly. "Retract cable."

 

There was a brief hissing noise, and Obi-Wan secured his freed launcher to an outcropping at waist level. Once secured, he wound an arm around Qui-Gon's waist. "Retract cable."

 

Qui-Gon swiftly duplicated Obi-Wan's movements, finding a different outcropping. "All right. Go."

 

Again Obi-Wan plummeted downward. They repeated their maneuvers over and over, feeling the wind picking up strength, occasionally battering them against the face of the cliff. The sea roared beneath them, louder with every fluid dive toward the water. They felt the salt spray against their bodies; their clothing was thoroughly soaked with the sea and the rain.

 

"It's so dark -- I can't tell if there's land or water beneath us," Obi-Wan said, his voice muffled by Qui-Gon's cloak as he clutched his master about the waist.

 

"Another ten meters or so," Qui-Gon said, struggling with the suddenly recalcitrant launcher. "There must be some level ground," he reasoned. "Maerin came from this part of the isle."

 

"Be careful," Obi-Wan cautioned, embracing Qui-Gon tightly for emphasis.

 

Qui-Gon made the swift descent down. He felt a savage wave buffet itself about his legs, and clung to the cliff wall for support. Slowly, he began to make a horizontal path, heading for what seemed to be tamer waters -- a cove, perhaps, or a beach.

 

All at once, the cable launcher detached, and he fell into the water, distantly registering Obi-Wan's cry of alarm.

 

Qui-Gon gasped -- the water was freezing. He began to kick, swimming upward, toward the cliff. A wave carried him toward the sheer rock, and he reached out instinctively, grasping hold of something smooth and hard. He pulled the object toward the rock, attempting to slow his progress, and fetched up on a beach of shells, the edges slicing into his hands.

 

"Master --" He heard splashing, and saw a form -- Obi-Wan swimming toward him. He grasped Obi-Wan's hand and pulled him swiftly to shore.

 

"Obi-Wan -- are you all right?" He clasped Obi-Wan tightly in his arms.

 

Obi-Wan returned the embrace, kissing Qui-Gon's cheek. "Are you?" His hand reached up and touched Qui-Gon's face. "Master, you've been injured."

 

"It's fine," Qui-Gon said, punctuating his words with a quick embrace. "I think we've found Maerin's boat." He nodded toward a small watercraft -- the object he'd seized in his effort to reach land. Together they dragged it to shore and examined it, finding nothing but some battered safety gear.

 

"The tide's coming in," Obi-Wan said. "Whatever else was here was likely already washed away."

 

"Probably," Qui-Gon agreed. "Let's look for an entrance, Obi-Wan."

 

They parted, seeking some way to gain access to the Hold. Qui-Gon examined the stone cliffs minutely, seeking a concealed entrance, a seam or break in the rock, and found nothing. The water was lapping against the edges of the island; grimly, Qui-Gon waded into the sea until the freezing water rose to his waist and the island curved into treacherously jagged, broken stones. His search was fruitless; he made no ingress and was acutely aware that if he continued to pursue this course, hypothermia would soon overtake him.

 

He stumbled back to shore, wringing out the edges of his cloak. Obi-Wan appeared moments later, thoroughly soaked and shivering.

 

"Nothing," Obi-Wan said with obvious disgust. He glanced at the approaching sea. "Master, the tide's rising. Shouldn't we seek higher ground?"

 

Qui-Gon nodded. "And warmth, I think."

 

"So much for high summer," Obi-Wan quipped, withdrawing his cable launcher.

 

Qui-Gon smiled. "There will be another way to find Maerin. We'll simply have to seek alternate means of entry."

 

"We may have to confront the guards after all." Obi-Wan sounded as though he relished the thought.

 

"Peace, Padawan," Qui-Gon admonished absently. "Perhaps we ought to --" He squinted as a sudden bright light swept past them. "Padawan -- get down." He dropped to the ground, Obi-Wan beside him. They waited until the light made another sweep past them, then crawled to the foot of the cliff, pressing themselves flat against the rock.

 

"Our absence has been noted," Qui-Gon remarked.

 

"It would seem so, Master."

 

"Well," Qui-Gon said, "I was going to suggest that we seek an aquatic transport in the village, but under the circumstances, perhaps we'd better see if Maerin's boat is operable."

 

There was a distant clamor of voices, and the light swept past again.

 

"I'll have a look at it, Master," Obi-Wan said. He went to the boat -- it was half in and half out of the water -- and leapt in, crouching down to examine the power housing. When the harsh beam of light skimmed the boat, Obi-Wan ceased all movement, his cloak concealing him entirely so that he resembled nothing so much as a damp pile of blankets. The light lingered for a moment, then moved on. Obi-Wan resumed his tinkering, and Qui-Gon drew a deep sigh of relief as the craft's engines roared to life.

 

Obi-Wan leapt out of the boat, pushing it into deeper water. Qui-Gon moved to assist him, holding the boat steady as Obi-Wan jumped back in. "Take the controls, Padawan," Qui-Gon instructed, climbing into the boat.

 

"We'll have to circumnavigate the isle to get to the mainland, Master. There might be guards waiting."

 

Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan into a quick embrace. "It'll be all right, Obi-Wan." He felt Obi-Wan's lips curving into a smile against his neck. He reached down, bringing Obi-Wan's face to meet his. "We'll take cover for the evening on the mainland and stow aboard a transport," he said, kissing Obi-Wan before the young man could respond.

 

Obi-Wan returned the kiss fiercely, then rested his forehead on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "Master, what about Maerin?"

 

"If we can't rescue him, Padawan, we'll have to alert the Senate as soon as possible and hope for his safety. If Pralderis wishes to become part of the Republic, its leaders will have to answer to the people's charges." He tightened his arms around Obi-Wan. "You're cold, Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan's smile was brilliant. "No, Master -- I'm not." He turned to the controls, guiding the craft as it slid smoothly across the turbulent sea.

 

**********

 

Ceirn's stare was baleful. "Where could they have gone, 'drei?"

 

"Don't interrogate me," Edrei snapped. "I don't know where they've gone. They won't get far, though." She nodded toward her dressing table, on which the Jedi's lightsabers lay.

 

Ceirn's eyes widened in interest. "Well, well." He chose Obi-Wan's saber and examined it. "How does one turn this thing on?" He started as the saber hummed to life, its blue blade shimmering in the gloom.

 

"Put that thing down," Edrei said. "You almost took your own head off."

 

"Shut up, 'drei." Ceirn's eyes shone as he performed a few maneuvers with the saber, admiring its sweep, the mesmerising brilliance of the blade. He lifted the saber above his head and brought it down on a small bench with a delicately embroidered cushion, cleaving it neatly in two. "Impressive," he laughed.

 

"Put it down, I say, and stop destroying my bedroom."

 

Ceirn stared hard at her, his face illuminated by the radiant blade. "I told you not to lock them up, Edrei -- we should have given them free run of the Hold."

 

"And have them find the theiris before I was ready to reveal it? And to find --"

 

"That's enough," Ceirn said, disengaging the weapon and tossing it on Edrei's bed. "You couldn't lull Qui-Gon into complacency -- I told you that -- and now he knows about Maerin. If they should escape, 'drei, they'll tell their Council and the Senate, and all my plans will be ruined. Our trade routes will be denied, and Pralderis will be forced into self-sufficiency. We'll have to subsist on shraph and feir grain."

 

"How are they going to escape?" Edrei shrugged. "Einan has alerted all off-planet transports. Besides, I've sent a communication to their Council informing them of Qui-Gon's death -- and his apprentice's as well."

 

Ceirn gave her a look sharp enough to slice flesh from bone. "And who granted you permission to do that?"

 

Edrei rose from the bed and drew Ceirn into her arms. "I told you, Ceirn -- I need Qui-Gon. If you'd seen him -- I can show you the theiris. It's rejuvenated, I --"

 

"What about Obi-Wan?"

 

"What about him?"

 

"If you truly intend to imprison Qui-Gon here --"

 

"It's not imprisonment, Ceirn," Edrei said. "He was as drawn to the theiris as it was to him."

 

"Nevertheless -- do you think that Obi-Wan will accept what will happen to Qui-Gon?"

 

"It doesn't matter," Edrei argued. "Do whatever you like with him -- keep him as a lover, or use him as a servant, or give him to the guards -- I don't care about him."

 

"Qui-Gon does."

 

"Will you stop that," Edrei fumed. "Eventually Qui-Gon will have no memory of his apprentice. I just need a little time to forge the bond. They'll be found." She lay her head upon Ceirn's shoulder. "Ceirn, please. Trust me."

 

Ceirn stroked her hair. "You're a slave to theiris, 'drei. You think that's going to gain you anything but dreams?"

 

"I'm not a slave."

 

"You are," Ceirn corrected her. "You're chained to that flower -- more so than Reive."

 

"Reive is dying," Edrei said. "We haven't much time, Ceirn. I must have Qui-Gon. Don't oppose me."

 

Ceirn, for an answer, embraced her tightly, relishing her yielding softness, already regretting the day he must see her will crushed.

 

His eyes fell upon Edrei's bed, upon the saber that lay dormant on the bronze-colored silks.

 

He would accept Obi-Wan as a gift. A trained warrior would be a coup indeed. Obi-Wan was a prize worthy of a king; whether or not the Jedi was willing to be a prize was irrelevant. Ceirn felt a keen pang of lust entwined with the fluid heat of the Gift thrumming through his blood and took pains to conceal it from Edrei, lest she sense it. He would not show his hand at once; only when he truly ruled would he demonstrate his power.

 

He needed no theiris to rule.

 

**********

 

Varden Thanach adjusted the sight on his electrobinoculars and squinted into the darkness. Sighing, he pushed his hood back from his face, heedless of the chill rain.

 

A hand fell on his cloak. "Come away, Varden. You've been looking for hours."

 

Varden shrugged the well-meaning hand off, glancing at the blond, bearded man beside him. "He'll be back."

 

"If he hasn't returned by now -- I'm sorry, Varden -- I think --"

 

"Be silent, Toran." Blinking against tears, Varden looked into the electrobinoculars again. "I told him to be careful," he murmured.

 

"Varden, be sensible. If Maerin's been captured, then the best thing for you to do is to go back to the Hold and free him. You're still Regent; they'll listen to you."

 

Varden laughed bitterly, turning to glare at Toran. "I'm Regent in name only, Toran, and you know that well. If he's caught, then he'll not be spared. Einan will see to that; Edrei will see to that. And Ceirn --" Varden's words ended in a choked noise. "Curse those Jedi for becoming involved," he whispered.

 

"Steady, my friend," Toran said gently. "Curse Edrei and her ambition; curse Einan and his ruthlessness; curse Ceirn and his negligence. But don't curse the Jedi -- none of this is their fault."

 

Varden shook his head and raised his binoculars again. "I didn't believe that Edrei would -- Toran, it's him!"

 

Toran whispered a prayer of thanksgiving. "Let me see." He took the electrobinoculars from Varden, straining to focus upon the incoming watercraft. "I wonder what took him so..." He fell silent, his brow furrowing in dismay.

 

"What's the matter?"

 

"Varden -- that's not Maerin."

 

"Of course it is -- that's his boat."

 

"No." Toran said no more, but handed Varden the electrobinoculars. Varden wrenched them from Toran's hand and focused on the boat once more.

 

"No..."

 

"Something's happened."

 

"Jedi," Varden growled, making the word sound like a profound obscenity. "They left him there." He straightened, heading for the steep staircase that spiraled through the tower.

 

"Varden -- Varden, where are you going?"

 

"Back to the Hold," Varden returned. "You're right -- I should have gone back hours ago."

 

"But the Jedi --"

 

"It's not the Jedi I care about. Let them leave."

 

"Varden," Toran said, catching up to Varden at the bottom of the stairs and grasping his arm. "If Maerin's been --"

 

Varden's dark eyes burned in his pale face. "If he's alive, then perhaps I can save him after all. If he's dead --" He suppressed a shudder. "If he's dead, then wait for my signal. We'll mobilize and move in."

 

Toran closed his eyes briefly. "Strength to you, my friend."

 

"Neither collar nor crown," Varden whispered, then turned, disappearing into the night.

 

**********

 

 

Obi-Wan helped Qui-Gon toss a quantity of fishing nets from a nearby vessel over their small craft, concealing it as best they could.

 

"The spaceport is that way," Obi-Wan said.

 

"We'll stow aboard in the morning," Qui-Gon said. "Let's reconnoiter, then find somewhere to get warm."

 

Obi-Wan nodded agreement. The wind might have dried their clothing had the rain not continued to fall, pelting them steadily and unforgivingly during their brief and perilous journey to the mainland. Obi-Wan had managed to avoid being seen by the guards; it was fortunate that the noise of the storm was so fierce, drowning out the din of the boat's engine. They'd nearly run aground amongst the jagged shoals, though -- Obi-Wan had had to use every shred of concentration and the Force to maneuver through the stones. Too, the boat was light, and was tossed about and several times nearly swamped by the tumultuous sea. Obi-Wan had breathed a sigh of relief when they'd finally come ashore.

 

Morning was a few hours away; the sky was still black, the moons concealed by thick clouds. They drew their hoods up, staying close to the few buildings and avoiding what lights illuminated the roads. In a short time they had drawn close to the spaceport. Obi-Wan counted the guards before the Barilon K-Class, grinding his teeth in irritation.

 

"It looks like they're not taking any chances, Master."

 

Qui-Gon nodded. "Fifteen outside -- perhaps more in the ship," he said.

 

"I wish we had our lightsabers," Obi-Wan grumbled.

 

"Wishing isn't having," Qui-Gon chided lightly. "We'll find a way. Let's get indoors before we both freeze to death."

 

Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon gladly; he was soaked to the skin and horribly cold. His feet were becoming numb, and not even the brisk pace Qui-Gon set restored sensation.

 

Qui-Gon chose a small building in which to hide -- a bakery, by the looks of it. They dismantled the lock on the rear door with a judicious application of the Force, and crept inside, alert for intruder alarms.

 

Qui-Gon drew Obi-Wan down a short flight of stairs. He strode swiftly toward a large iron door and opened it, sighing. "Wood. Hand me some of that kindling, Obi-Wan."

 

Obi-Wan gave Qui-Gon a double handful of twisted paper and thin strips of wood, his statement doubtful. "If you're hungry, Master, I believe I saw some bread on the shelves upstairs."

 

"Good idea, Obi-Wan. Go get us something to eat." He leaned down, carefully laying the strips of wood. When Obi-Wan made no move to obey, he glanced at him. "Well, aren't you hungry?" he asked mildly.

 

Nonplussed, Obi-Wan trotted upstairs. He wandered among the nearly empty rows of the shop, lingering over a plump, fluffy loaf of bread, a cake smothered in thick cream, his stomach groaning plaintively in response to the delectable aromas of the shop. He selected a tray of tarts, then went to the rear of the store. His persistence was rewarded when he discovered a small cooler, with a pot of cold tea. Grasping both prizes, he hurried downstairs. "Master, I --"

 

Qui-Gon was naked. Quite naked.

 

Obi-Wan just managed not to drop the tarts and tea. "Master -- what are you doing?"

 

Qui-Gon smiled, looking over his shoulder. "Getting warm." He opened the door of one of the large ovens; Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon's tunic on one rack, his boots on another.

 

Obi-Wan carefully set the items he'd brought onto a nearby table. "You're baking your clothes."

 

"Drying them, Padawan. I suggest you do the same." Qui-Gon turned, warming his backside. "Ahh."

 

Obi-Wan smiled, then laughed. "That's very resourceful, Master."

 

"Thank you, Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan stripped off his robe. "It's a good thing there are a lot of ovens here, Master."

 

"Why do you think I chose the place? What did you bring to eat?" Qui-Gon strolled to the table where Obi-Wan had placed the tarts and tea.

 

"Tarts," Obi-Wan said, mesmerised by the length of Qui-Gon's legs. "Tea."

 

"Good." Qui-Gon took a tart and bit into it. "Very good. Excellent choice, Padawan."

 

"Thank you, Master."

 

Qui-Gon turned. "Any cups?"

 

"What?" Obi-Wan forced himself to meet his master's eyes.

 

Qui-Gon lifted the pot of tea. "Any cups for the tea?"

 

"No, Master. I didn't bring any."

 

Qui-Gon nonchalantly sipped from the pot. "You'd better finish undressing, Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan had the utmost difficulty in tearing his eyes away from his master. Then he smiled. Surely he had freedom to indulge in what he'd done so surreptitiously in the past. He allowed his gaze to travel the length of Qui-Gon's body, a smile curving his mouth.

 

Qui-Gon seemed to become aware of Obi-Wan's scrutiny. He turned, his eyes veiled. "You're not undressed."

 

Obi-Wan's smile became innocent. "I'm afraid my fingers aren't working, Master -- they're too cold."

 

Qui-Gon set the tea on the table. "Well. I can't have you catching a chill, my padawan." He moved forward, unclasping Obi-Wan's belt and letting it fall. He unwound Obi-Wan's sash and eased the outer tunic from his shoulders. Walking to the oven, he lay the tunic and sash on one rack, then turned to Obi-Wan. "Still cold?"

 

"Freezing," Obi-Wan affirmed.

 

Qui-Gon returned and unfastened Obi-Wan's inner tunic, then knelt and unclasped his boots, drawing them off and taking them to another rack in the oven. "What about now?"

 

"Still cold, Master," Obi-Wan said solemnly. "I hope I don't become ill."

 

Qui-Gon laughed softly, and divested Obi-Wan of his socks, trousers, and underwear, hanging them to dry in another oven. Obi-Wan shivered as the warming air touched his skin.

 

Qui-Gon drew Obi-Wan into his arms and kissed him, hands clasping Obi-Wan's backside. Obi-Wan pressed himself into Qui-Gon's body, shuddering with pleasure, feeling his organ stirring.

 

"Are you hungry?" Qui-Gon asked.

 

"Starving." He wound his arms around Qui-Gon's neck, capturing his master's mouth with his own. Qui-Gon tasted of tea and the citrus-cheese tart he'd eaten. Qui-Gon grasped his backside more tightly, which Obi-Wan took as an invitation to wrap his legs around Qui-Gon's body, clinging to his master. Qui-Gon let out a muffled snort of laughter and began to walk backward, carrying Obi-Wan to the table.

 

Qui-Gon grunted. "When was the last time I carried you anywhere?"

 

Obi-Wan's brow creased in thought. "I think it was on Simor V, when I broke my leg -- three years ago." He arched into Qui-Gon, his erection pressing against Qui-Gon's stomach.

 

Qui-Gon's laugh was a little strained, though whether it was from effort or arousal Obi-Wan knew not. He suspected the former and hoped the latter. "My, how you've grown," Qui-Gon said dryly.

 

They laughed; Obi-Wan lunged forward and kissed Qui-Gon again. Qui-Gon sank to the floor, reaching up with one hand and closing it on a tart. He brought the tart to Obi-Wan's nose. "Eat," he mumbled.

 

Obi-Wan took a prodigious bite of the tart and chewed rapturously. "Mmph."

 

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

 

Obi-Wan nearly choked with laughter. "Sorry, Master. It's good."

 

"Have some more," Qui-Gon invited. Obediently, Obi-Wan opened his mouth, and Qui-Gon placed the remaining bit of tart on Obi-Wan's tongue. He kissed Obi-Wan's neck and ears as Obi-Wan finished the tart.

 

Obi-Wan shifted in Qui-Gon's arms, his knees scraping against the now-warm brick floor. "I'm thirsty now, Master."

 

Qui-Gon smiled. "Never let it be said that I neglect my padawan's welfare." He located the teapot with one hand and brought it to Obi-Wan's lips. Obi-Wan drank, his eyes meeting Qui-Gon's over the teapot. Qui-Gon's eyes were beautiful, dark and still in the dim light. Obi-Wan paused, feeling a quiet ecstasy as his master held him, a sharp longing, and a profound peace. His dreams were just that -- dreams. Qui-Gon was here, safe in his padawan's arms. Obi-Wan would cherish him and keep him safe from harm.

 

Qui-Gon set the teapot on the floor. "What is it, Obi-Wan?"

 

"I love you," Obi-Wan said.

 

Qui-Gon's eyes softened, and he leaned forward, kissing Obi-Wan's lips. "I love you." He bore Obi-Wan to the floor, kissing him, his hands running freely over Obi-Wan's body.

 

Obi-Wan's legs wound around Qui-Gon, and he moved restlessly beneath him, moaning softly as Qui-Gon's fingertips teased at his nipples, his navel, his organ. One hand twined in Qui-Gon's hair, the other curled around his master's erection, pulling and stroking. Obi-Wan's body was tightly drawn, his toes curled as Qui-Gon's light touch enflamed him. He cried out and climaxed, frantically stroking Qui-Gon's shaft. Qui-Gon tensed and came with a muffled cry, sagging atop Obi-Wan.

 

They lay silent and replete for some time, nearly succumbing to the temptation of sleep. Obi-Wan held Qui-Gon in his arms, reluctant to release his master. Finally, Qui-Gon arose with a groan. "Up, Padawan -- we should go soon. It's nearly dawn, and likely the village's baker will be here soon."

 

They found a sink and some cloths and took a quick bath. Obi-Wan padded naked to the ovens and extracted his clothes with a thin metal pole. "Well, this ought to feel --" He broke off, staring at his tunic.

 

Qui-Gon had already gotten his own clothes from the ovens and was dressing. "That feels good. What's the matter?"

 

Obi-Wan silently and indignantly showed Qui-Gon the back of his outer tunic. Thin brown stripes marched across the cream-colored cloth.

 

Qui-Gon coughed. "Perhaps I made the fire too intense in that oven."

 

Scowling, Obi-Wan snatched the rest of his clothes from the other ovens. Seeing that they were unsullied, he began to pull them on. They were delightfully warm and cozy. He pulled his outer tunic on, craning his neck to examine the back. "That's lovely."

 

"My apologies, Padawan. It's not the only tunic you own, though."

 

Obi-Wan tied his striped sash, unsuccessfully concealing a rueful grin. "I'm glad my robe is brown." He yanked on his boots, sighing in defeat as he saw a dark brown burn across the leather.

 

"Sorry, Padawan."

 

"That's all right, Master. It's a souvenir of Pralderis." He grinned at Qui-Gon. "I'll never forget that we had to wait for our clothes to be freshly baked."

 

"At least the waiting was time well-spent," Qui-Gon rejoined, deftly stealing another little tart. "Eat a bit more, Obi-Wan. I have the feeling we won't have much on the transport."

 

They finished the tarts and the tea. Obi-Wan paused suddenly, hearing a noise. The shop's employees had arrived to do the morning baking. Silently, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon made their escape just as footsteps thumped down the front stairs, and puzzled voices echoed across the room.

 

"Who left the blessed ovens on?"

 

Obi-Wan stifled a laugh as he drew his hood over his head and made his way into the grey, wet dawn.

 

**********

 

The Senator stood at the window, watching the leaden sky gradually lighten.

 

He was no longer angry; he'd been angry, yes, but had brought his rage under control swiftly. There was some wisdom in the teachings of the Jedi, after all.

 

He'd nearly killed that stupid girl for allowing the Jedi to escape. He could have killed her now, and with pleasure, but she was yet necessary to him -- her resources were yet necessary to him. He could not take control of the entire Hold without alerting someone on the mainland and besides, it did not suit his purpose to have his presence or his identity known.

 

Yet. Soon enough, all would know. For now, the little fool could keep her illusions, her Hold, and her miserable life. And she could keep the Jedi; only Jinn's connection with the flower interested the Senator. If Jinn escaped and another host could not be found -- for the current host was dying -- the theiris would expire and with it, the Senator's visions.

 

Not that the visions were necessary. They were, however, an exquisite pleasure he did not wish to deny himself.

 

Thoughts of pleasure turned his contemplation -- naturally, perhaps -- to young Obi-Wan Kenobi. Pretty Obi-Wan, so trusting in the filth he revered, so innocent in his love for his master. A padawan learner saw clearly, their consciousness untrammeled by the weight of petty wrongdoings their elders saw fit to bear -- wrongdoings committed by the most common and inconsequential of individuals, as useless filth as the Jedi were themselves. Such a tender young mind could not be harshly plundered; its petals must needs be plucked one by one, slowly, carefully, lovingly.

 

Such exquisite pleasure demanded time, care, and patience. He possessed all that in abundance. And when he possessed the flower -- Obi-Wan; even the name was lovely, spilling from the tongue like crystalline water -- he would indulge himself.

 

A thought occurred to him. Would it not be possible to add Obi-Wan to his cadre of disciples? He had hesitated in choosing only one, and the time was near; all were excellent candidates, but the allure of turning a Jedi had not occurred to him.

 

The prospect was suddenly very exciting.

 

Come back to me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, he thought. Come back, and I will show you wonders upon wonders, you may be sure of that. And perhaps -- yes, perhaps -- you will one day come to call me Master.

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan crouched behind a row of waste bins, smiling in amusement as he watched the guards pacing restlessly in front of the Barilon, alert for intruders. It was fortunate, he thought, that they hadn't noticed Qui-Gon, aided by a set of lasercutters and his cable launcher, descending through the ceiling of the hangar and landing noiselessly atop the ship. Were the guards to notice Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan would provide a distraction allowing Qui-Gon time to get into the ship and subdue whoever was aboard. Then he would take the ship -- using its weapons, if necessary -- into an open space and retrieve Obi-Wan.

 

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had watched from a distance as the guards performed a shift rotation; two left the ship, and two boarded -- certainly few enough to be easily overpowered by Qui-Gon, even without his lightsaber.

 

Obi-Wan's fingers curled involuntarily. He felt a surge of sharp anger at whoever had taken his saber from him -- as well as whoever had wounded and captured Maerin. Now he felt a keen pang of regret that they were leaving without ensuring the young man's safety, but realized that if he and Qui-Gon could not escape swiftly, more might suffer. Such ruthless exigency hardly spoke well of the intentions of the ruling body of Pralderis.

 

Governing his emotions, Obi-Wan focused on his master. Qui-Gon had reached the hatch and was opening it with the greatest care. As Obi-Wan watched, Qui-Gon slipped inside, closing the hatch after him.

 

Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief and rose to his feet. He would follow Qui-Gon; it would be an easy task to gain access to the hangar. The guards weren't that observant.

 

He slipped down the narrow street, stopping short as more than a dozen black-garbed guards stood blocking the alley, blasters trained on him.

 

Ceirn stepped out from behind them, dressed in the same sober black uniform the guards wore. "Good morning, Obi-Wan. We've been looking for you."

 

Obi-Wan took a step back and flung out a hand, willing the closest guard's blaster to be wrenched from his grip. The blaster paused mid-course and clattered to the ground.

 

Ceirn smiled.

 

There was only one option, Obi-Wan realized: flight. He turned and put on a sudden burst of speed, charging toward the waste bins. He would create a clatter and bring the guards down on him, but it was better than immediate surrender. He hoped that Qui-Gon had been able to subdue the guards on the ship.

 

He skidded to a halt as several more guards appeared at the other end of the alley. He glanced up and leapt, but a sharp, splintering pain drove him back to the ground. He landed awkwardly and fell to his knees, gasping for breath, his head spinning from the impact of the stunner.

 

All at once the guards converged upon him, lifting him to his feet and dragging him down the alley. He struggled furiously, but he was weakened, and his efforts proved futile; his arms were wrenched behind him, his wrists secured with manacles. His ankles and knees were swiftly and tightly bound together, and a rough cloth was forced into his mouth, quieting any cries he might have made.

 

They carried him to the sea landing, where several boats waited, and dumped him into one of the crafts. Still dizzy and nauseated from the impact of the stun bolt, he managed to raise himself to one elbow. His efforts were rewarded by a kick in the chest that sent him crashing to the bottom of the boat again. He heard the sound of a blow, and Ceirn's voice.

 

"If you harm him again, I'll have you flayed alive -- am I understood?"

 

Obi-Wan turned to one side, striving to clear his head of the fog that wanted to overcome it. He felt himself pulled up, and the back of his head supported by a strong hand.

 

"Obi-Wan."

 

Obi-Wan focused wavering vision on Ceirn's face, registering that several guards had climbed into the boat and that it was being pushed into the water.

 

"That was brave of you, Obi-Wan. Stupid, but brave."

 

Obi-Wan darted a glance past Ceirn. He couldn't see the ship from his vantage point, but he hadn't heard it depart, even in the melee; he hoped Qui-Gon would go quickly. There would be time to arrange for rescue later, if Obi-Wan didn't manage to escape before the ship departed....

 

"No, Obi-Wan." Ceirn's voice was almost gentle. "Qui-Gon won't get away, either."

 

Obi-Wan's eyes flared in alarm. He'd forgotten --

 

"Of course I can read your thoughts, Obi-Wan. It's easy, you know. And yes -- we watched Qui-Gon enter the ship. We're more than ready for him, I assure you."

 

Obi-Wan voiced a stifled protest and surged upward, but was caught and pinned by two of the guards. They held him easily as he writhed and fought for freedom.

 

Ceirn pointed a blaster at Obi-Wan's chest. "Sorry, Obi-Wan. But this is the way it must be." He fired.

 

Obi-Wan felt another blast of pain, and slumped back into his captors' arms as consciousness deserted him.

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon stared warily at the guards that surrounded him. So much for stealth, he thought wryly -- and so much for the two guards they'd thought were aboard. He counted eight guards, all equipped with blasters.

 

He held his cable launcher out as a weapon. "Stay back."

 

The guards actually looked wary. Qui-Gon bit back a grin.

 

The sound of boot heels clicked against the metal floors, and the guards parted to allow Edrei Thanach into their midst. She wore a plain dark tunic and trousers, and her hair was plaited behind her back.

 

"Qui-Gon," she said sadly. "Why did you run?"

 

"Where's Maerin Thanach?" Qui-Gon returned evenly.

 

Edrei fingered a blaster, smiling coldly. "I would have thought that you'd be asking the whereabouts of your apprentice."

 

Qui-Gon did not answer. It's a trap, he thought. She's bluffing.

 

"I'd venture to guess that he's quite worried about you, Qui-Gon."

 

Qui-Gon remained silent. He stood with launcher poised; it was an unequal impasse, but it might gain him a little time.

 

"And perhaps," Edrei said, her smile never wavering, "perhaps you're worried about him."

 

"Where is he, Edrei?"

 

"Your Highness," Edrei corrected him. When he refused to answer, she snarled in frustration. "The guards will have captured him by now," she spat. "We saw you both. We know where he was hiding. Neither of you can escape, I promise you that."

 

Qui-Gon hesitated. If she were lying --

 

He had no time to complete the thought; Edrei's blaster emitted a pulse of blue light, and Qui-Gon sank to his knees, stunned. He felt himself pushed to the floor, his hands bound behind his back. A foot nudged his shoulder, and he was turned over to stare helplessly into the bore of Edrei's weapon.

 

"Obi-Wan --" Qui-Gon began. Edrei, her face contorted with rage, fired again, and Qui-Gon knew no more.

 

**********

 

Varden's footsteps were absorbed by the narrow hall with its thick stone walls. He walked slowly, with deliberate ease, though his heart screamed at him to hurry, hurry. He stopped before two guardsmen who bowed shortly at his approach.

 

"Your Highness."

 

"I want to see the prisoner."

 

"You won't get much from him, your Highness," one guard replied. "He's lost a lot of blood. His Highness Lord Ceirn questioned him, and --" The man shrugged eloquently.

 

"All the more reason for haste, I think," Varden replied pleasantly, suppressing an urge to wrap his hands around the guard's throat and squeeze the life out of him. He turned, gritting his teeth, and lifted a torch from the wall. "Open the door."

 

Shrugging, the guard fitted a heavy key into the lock. The door swung open slowly, and Varden stepped inside, closing the door behind himself.

 

Maerin lay on a thin pallet, his face white, his eyes closed. As the light from the torch passed over his face, he stirred, and his eyes opened.

 

"Maerin," Varden whispered.

 

Maerin tried to focus. "Varden? That you?"

 

"Maerin -- have they hurt you?"

 

"No more than I already was," Maerin returned weakly.

 

Tears springing to his eyes, Varden set the torch in a sconce and knelt, taking one of Maerin's groping hands in his own. "Where are you wounded?"

 

"Here." Maerin, with one trembling hand, pulled his jerkin open. Varden sucked in a breath at the sight of the blood that soaked Maerin's shirt.

 

"Oh, Maerin..." Varden brushed a damp, matted lock of hair away from Maerin's forehead.

 

"I stopped most of the bleeding," Maerin whispered, "but I can't last much longer without help. I've already --" he grimaced in pain, "I've already passed out a few times."

 

Varden stripped off his cloak, easing it under Maerin's head. "Tell me what to do."

 

"Whatever hit me is still in there," Maerin said, exerting weak pressure on Varden's hand. Varden saw that the effort to speak was costing Maerin, but there was no other way if Maerin was to be saved. "I can't tell if it's damaged anything. My lungs are all right, I think. Have to get it out."

 

"I'll go to the mainland," Varden said. "I'll get a healer."

 

Maerin shook his head slowly. "Not enough time. Fian."

 

Varden frowned, distressed. "Maerin, Fian --"

 

"Dead, I know. But I can feel her, Varden." Maerin coughed weakly. "She used to say that she could feel her own master after he died. I never believed her. It's the Gift, though."

 

"Maerin --" Varden was on the edge of panic. Maerin, practical, hard-headed Maerin, talking of ghosts and the Gift. "Maerin, we have to see to that wound."

 

Maerin gave Varden a faint grin. "You think I'm mad, don't you?"

 

Varden managed to smile in return. "I know you're mad. I knew that a long time ago."

 

Maerin's smile deepened, then he coughed again. Varden held his head up, supporting his frame. When Maerin took his hand away from his mouth, he smiled ruefully at the red streak on his hand. "Damnation," he muttered.

 

"Tell me what I need to do," Varden implored.

 

"I don't have my medkit," Maerin said, closing his eyes. "You'll have to make do. I need clean cloths. Hot water. Light." He went on in a paper-dry whisper, instructing Varden, his directives interspersed with coughing. When he'd finished, he opened his eyes. "They'll catch you, Varden. Listen to me -- forget this. Go back to the mainland and tell them --"

 

"No," Varden replied harshly, squeezing Maerin's hands. "Shut up, Maerin. I'll be back in a short while."

 

Maerin smiled gently, and raised one of Varden's hands to his lips.

 

That open, unexpected demonstration of affection undid Varden more than the blood or Maerin's pale, waxy skin. He rose to his feet before Maerin could witness his terror. "Stay still," he ordered. "I'll be back shortly."

 

He left the cell and slammed the door behind him. The guards looked at him incuriously.

 

"That man is a wealth of information," Varden said. "You -- I want a healer from the mainland brought here at once. You come with me," he said to the second guard, grabbing his sleeve. "I've got to do what I can, and you're going to help me."

 

**********

 

Adi Gallia, hearing her padawan's distinctive quick gait, turned from her contemplation of Coruscant's brilliant nighttime landscape, beckoning to him. "Garen."

 

"Master," Garen smiled, grasping her outstretched hands. "I left as soon as I received your communication, but we tangled with the Trade Feds -- they didn't want to let Baroness Kli'ren offplanet." He grinned roguishly. "Took some doing to outmaneuver them without bloodshed, but I just managed. Did you do something different with your hair? I like it. It was raining like mad in the south quadrant -- nothing here. Incredible. Did you --"

 

"Padawan." Adi interrupted her apprentice's garrulous flow of words, leading him to the couch, her hands still entwined with his. "Sit down, Padawan."

 

"Could I get something to eat first, Master? I'm starving."

 

"I have to speak to you, Padawan," Adi said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, "now."

 

Garen sat, pushing too-long sandy hair from his eyes. "Something's wrong."

 

Adi nodded. "Padawan, you know that Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were called to Pralderis to mediate a civil dispute."

 

Garen stilled. "Yes."

 

Sighing, Adi grasped Garen's hand a bit more tightly. "There was a skirmish -- a raid on the house of the royal family. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon...lost their lives in the defense of the royal house." Her heart twisted as she saw the light dim and fade from her padawan's bright green eyes. "Oh, Padawan -- I am sorry."

 

Garen looked about the room, making a helpless gesture with his free hand. "But --" He looked back at Adi, his eyes wide. "I was -- Master, when --"

 

"Days ago, according to the communication. They held a pyre funeral on Pralderis."

 

"No --" Garen lowered his head, his voice catching on an unsteady breath.

 

Adi opened her arms, and Garen blindly found his way into them. He cried quietly, his tears wetting her tunic. She rocked him, offering what solace she could in touch and silence.

 

**********

 

Ceirn pushed through the knot of guards, making his way to the two that carried Obi-Wan's limp form between them. "Move, damn you." He leaned against the wall, breathing hard. Obi-Wan's capture had been more exciting than anything he'd done in so long; he felt bloodlust and adrenaline coursing through his veins. Obi-Wan was swift and strong, and Ceirn admired speed and strength -- particularly when he'd defeated it.

 

Perhaps he would yet find a use for Obi-Wan. He smiled, envisioning Obi-Wan in Thanach garb, training legions of troops, training Ceirn himself. A warrior lover, Ceirn thought -- now there was something to stir the blood.

 

But that was some time away -- Obi-Wan needed to adjust to his new circumstances, and that would not be easy. Edrei had been heedless, telling the Jedi that Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had perished -- but the deed was done, and they could not release one without the other. Edrei would pay for that later.

 

Ceirn gestured impatiently at the guard who opened the cell door. "Hurry up." He took a torch and watched as the guards carried Obi-Wan into the cell and lay him upon the damp pallet, securing his manacles to the wall with a length of chain. He turned to the guards. "All right -- get out."

 

"Sire, he's dangerous."

 

Ceirn turned to the man who'd spoken, the captain of the guards. "Are you saying I can't handle him, Captain?"

 

"You saw him fighting, Sire. He might only be a boy, but he's had martial training --"

 

"So have I," Ceirn spat. "Get out." He watched coldly as the captain bowed in deference and backed out of the cell.

 

When they had exited the cell, Ceirn closed the door, setting the torch in the sconce. He pulled off his gloves, stuffing them in a pocket. He then turned to face his captive, eyes alight with anticipation.

 

Obi-Wan had awakened and had risen to one elbow, propping himself against the wall. His eyes were clouded with pain, but they were alert nonetheless, and fastened upon Ceirn with wariness and cold hostility.

 

"You're awake," Ceirn said in surprise. "I'm impressed. Those stunner blasts usually knock people out for hours. You've got quite a bit of stamina -- must be all that Jedi training." He crouched low and sat back on his heels. "I'm sorry this had to happen. Edrei -- well, once she gets an idea in her head, it's difficult to dissuade her. She's my sister and I love her, though, so I indulge her."

 

Obi-Wan only stared at him, likely realizing that any response he made would be all but inaudible.

 

Ceirn reached out to unknot the gag wound about Obi-Wan's head. He pulled the cloth from Obi-Wan's mouth and let the gag drop to the floor. "All right, no one will care if you call out here, Obi-Wan. So you can chastise me if you want."

 

Obi-Wan licked dry lips and lifted his chin, undaunted and defiantly silent.

 

Ceirn smiled broadly. "Oh, Obi-Wan -- you're really charming, you know. I'm beginning to think that Edrei had the right idea after all. I really didn't think it was possible to keep a Jedi, but I see that I was wrong. It really wasn't difficult to take you at all, was it? For all your vaunted strength, it wasn't difficult at all." He reached out, petting Obi-Wan's hair, then sliding his hand down Obi-Wan's braid. "I like this," Ceirn continued. "Does it have some significance?"

 

Obi-Wan jerked his head away, his eyes flashing.

 

Angered, Ceirn struck Obi-Wan across the face. "Don't pull away from me, Obi-Wan. Your life is no longer your own. Your Council thinks you are dead. You belong to the Thanach now. You're chattel -- do you understand that? But you're my chattel." He leaned forward and dragged Obi-Wan toward him by a fistful of Obi-Wan's tunics. He touched Obi-Wan's bruised mouth with his free hand and, grasping Obi-Wan by the chin, kissed him briefly and swiftly on the lips, pulling back before Obi-Wan could resist or retaliate. He sat back again, smiling, examining Obi-Wan's compressed lips, his narrowed eyes. "You'll be willing, soon enough. You'll be spreading it for me the way you spread for that master of yours." He laughed at Obi-Wan's sudden glare. "Yes, I watched. We both did, Edrei and I, though I can tell you that Edrei was far more vexed than I was." He smiled again, almost tenderly, at the flush that stained Obi-Wan's cheeks.

 

"You won't get away with this," Obi-Wan said with quiet conviction.

 

Ceirn cocked his head to one side. "Why not? Don't Jedi die on missions? We're sending your laser swords back to the Jedi, along with your ashes. Well, not yours, but someone's."

 

Obi-Wan, Ceirn saw, was struggling to maintain a facade of calm. "Where is my master?"

 

"He's with Edrei." Ceirn stood and drew his gloves on.

 

Obi-Wan looked up at Ceirn, offering him a smile filled with cool contempt. "If you think that you can hold two Jedi prisoner for long, you're deluding yourself."

 

Ceirn returned the smile, then kicked Obi-Wan in the chest, sending him reeling backward. Obi-Wan's skull connected solidly with the stone wall, and he winced in pain. "You listen to me," Ceirn said, bending and grasping Obi-Wan's chin, wrenching it so that Obi-Wan was forced to look at him. "I can do anything I please. Anything." He reached between Obi-Wan's legs, expertly fondling his prisoner, laughing as Obi-Wan struggled away. "Don't cross me, Obi-Wan, or I can make life very unpleasant for you."

 

Obi-Wan stilled, then stared at Ceirn. "I insist that you free me at once." He smiled slightly, then rolled over on his stomach, gesturing with his bound hands. "Unlock these."

 

Ceirn caught himself in the act of reaching out toward Obi-Wan's manacles.

 

Obi-Wan looked up at Ceirn. "Go on, Ceirn," he encouraged. "You can do it. You --"

 

Ceirn hesitated, seeing the calm triumph in Obi-Wan's eyes. He felt helpless suddenly, his will draining from him like blood from a wound.

 

"Quickly," Obi-Wan said.

 

"Why don't you do it yourself, young Jedi?" a quiet voice asked.

 

Obi-Wan's mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened. He took a quick gasp of air, and his face became red. His mouth moved, but no words emerged.

 

**********

 

Ceirn felt as though a veil had been torn from his eyes. He turned to look at the speaker, a man of middle age and height, who smiled at him with warm benevolence from the depths of a dark hood. He blinked as the man advanced into the room.

 

"Ah," the man said. "You're still weakened from the stun blast, aren't you, Obi-Wan? Though I see you're still strong enough to influence young Thanach here."

 

Bewildered, Ceirn looked at Obi-Wan, whose face was crimson as he writhed upon the floor, seemingly in the grip of some terrible pain. A strangled cry issued from his throat, and his hands clenched into fists.

 

"You should take care, young sir," the man said, kneeling beside Ceirn and throwing back his hood. He gazed thoughtfully at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan's teeth were clenched, and tears ran from his tightly closed eyes. "If you haven't the resources to deal with a Jedi, you might be in for some unpleasant surprises."

 

"What's wrong with him?" Ceirn asked warily.

 

"A slight muscular contraction," the man replied. "No permanent damage will occur."

 

Shaking off the last of his disorientation, Ceirn realized that the man was wielding the Gift, wreaking agony upon Obi-Wan. "Are you a Jedi also?" Ceirn asked -- though he doubted that those who were reputed to be saviors of the galaxy would effect such suffering onto another human being.

 

The man chuckled. "I? No, I'm not." He picked up the gag that Ceirn had discarded. "You were unwise to allow him to speak to you, young Thanach. Obi-Wan is a clever boy -- aren't you, Obi-Wan?" He patted Obi-Wan's wet cheek softly. "Open your mouth, Obi-Wan."

 

Ceirn was both horrified and fascinated to see Obi-Wan shake his head in a tiny gesture of defiance. He admired Obi-Wan's strength anew, all but feeling the excruciating, invisible embrace holding Obi-Wan's body rigid and trembling.

 

"Open your mouth, young Jedi. Open for me, my flower."

 

As Ceirn watched, Obi-Wan opened his mouth, though clearly he did it against his will. A small sound escaped him as the man pushed the material back into his mouth and tied it behind his head. Rising to his feet, the man made a careless gesture, and Obi-Wan crumpled to the floor, sucking in great, whooping gulps of air around the gag and coughing spasmodically.

 

"You can't trust Jedi, Sire. They are a treacherous lot; devious manipulation of innocent minds is the least of their offenses, I'm afraid."

 

Ceirn got to his feet. "Who are you?"

 

"No one of consequence, I assure you." When Ceirn stared hard at him, he smiled. "I am an acquaintance of your sister."

 

Ceirn's stare was icy. "I've never seen you before."

 

"No -- you have not."

 

Ceirn rested a hand on his blaster. "Do you make a habit of intruding where you're uninvited?"

 

The man looked coolly at the blaster. "If you touch a weapon, young sir, then you should be prepared to use it."

 

Ceirn drew the blaster and pointed it at the man's chest. "I am prepared. Tell me who you are and what you want. How do you know Obi-Wan?"

 

"I am unarmed, young Thanach," the man said mildly.

 

Ceirn shook his head. "Unarmed -- I saw what you did to Obi-Wan." He nodded at Obi-Wan, who lay facedown, his eyes closed. "Has he fainted?"

 

"He is in a healing trance," the man said, leaning down to examine the captive. "He can hear us, but he is focusing his energy upon renewal. He's intelligent as well as brave."

 

"And he's mine," Ceirn snarled. "Forget you've seen him." Despite what the man had said about the Jedi, it was possible that he might alert the Council about Obi-Wan's imprisonment.

 

The man straightened and looked at him, his expression benevolent. "I did not know of you. Most unfortunate."

 

Ceirn frowned. This man had the Gift, it was true, but it felt...wrong, somehow. "What do you want with Edrei?"

 

"The Thanach," the man said, "were a powerful clan once. It is a tragedy to see such power corrupted. Injudicious breeding has weakened your line. That is why there is rebellion, you know; when the core of a structure is corrupt, the structure falls." He smiled confidingly. "Your sister has designs on the throne."

 

Ceirn laughed. "I know that. I've known it for some time. Is that why you're here, stranger -- to help her?"

 

The man bowed. "No, Sire. It is only too clear to me who shall rule Pralderis."

 

"As well it should be. Then why are you here?"

 

"I've come to see the theiris," the man said, waving a slightly self-deprecating hand.

 

Ceirn's lips twisted in a smile. "You have the Gift, and you want to see visions," he sneered. "You and Edrei want to sit in a stupor and dream all day, is that it?"

 

"The visions are most pleasant," the man answered, unperturbed.

 

"The visions, sir, are precisely why Edrei will never take the throne from me," Ceirn said. "They are dreams -- nothing more."

 

"Is that so?" the man murmured. "Well, you are undoubtedly correct, your Highness."

 

Ceirn smiled contemptuously, his interest in the man's powers dissolving. He and Edrei were welcome to one another. Ceirn had Obi-Wan -- for the moment, at least.

 

He gestured toward the cell door, summarily ushering the stranger out. "You had better find my sister, sir. I'm sure she's anxious to see you." He closed and locked the cell, then strode down the hall, not bothering to see if the man made his way through the corridor.

 

Before he turned the corner, he glanced back, seeing that the man still stood before the cell door in silent contemplation. Strangely uneasy, Ceirn summoned the guard, ordering two of them to stand watch before Obi-Wan's cell.

 

He stopped at Maerin Thanach's cell and waved the guard aside. Stepping into the cell, he smiled at the man, nudging at his wounded body with the toe of one boot. "Head up, rebel. Time for you to answer some questions."

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon came to slowly, aware that he was bound and blindfolded, lying on the floor. His chest ached from the stun, but he was clearheaded enough to discern some information from his surroundings. He was not alone. He heard the breathing of two other individuals. He was back in Thanach Hold; the air smelled dank and cold, with the faint tang of sour soil. He was likely underground, possibly in the very dungeons he'd mentioned to Obi-Wan.

 

The thought of Obi-Wan filled him with anxiety. He struggled to a sitting position, noting that his feet were unbound and that his wrists were enclosed in heavy manacles, connected to the wall by a short length of chain.

 

The Force pulsed around him in throbbing waves, dizzying in its intensity. He leaned back against the wall, gathering his strength. If Obi-Wan had been captured, then Qui-Gon would have to look for a chance to escape and rescue his padawan. If Obi-Wan had managed to elude the guards, then he would seek to save Qui-Gon. There was a chance that he could gain help from the rebels; perhaps Maerin Thanach had imparted some information that would be helpful to Obi-Wan.

 

The blindfold was pulled away from his eyes, and he blinked in the dim light. Edrei knelt before him, dressed in a gown of richly embroidered velvet. Her eyes were glazed with tears.

 

She lay a hand on his cheek. "Qui-Gon..." She turned from him and bent over a still form lying upon the floor, clad in a simple, dark robe. For one horrible instant, Qui-Gon thought it was Obi-Wan, then saw that it was not -- it was a man with dark hair and a broad mouth, and skin of a blue-tinted white.

 

The man was dying; that much was abundantly clear.

 

"Who is this?" Qui-Gon asked, shifting in his bonds to get a better look at the man.

 

"This is Reive," Edrei said, her voice muted. "He is my brother."

 

Looking closer, Qui-Gon saw the family resemblance. "What's wrong with him?"

 

"He's dying," Edrei wept. "He's sustained the theiris for years, Qui-Gon, but now -- now it's as if they know they've found a stronger host. They are rejecting him."

 

Qui-Gon's eyes adjusted to the dimness. He looked up, seeing the golden flowers on a table. They arched toward him, seeming to nod at him with sunny benevolence. He glanced at the man again, seeing old, pale scars on one outflung arm -- on the man's wrist.

 

An ominous prickle crept up Qui-Gon's spine. Sustained, he thought. Sustained...

 

Edrei rose and staggered to the table. She took a blossom and knelt before Qui-Gon. "I don't want to harm you, Qui-Gon," she gulped, wiping ungracefully at her nose. "But you must cooperate with me."

 

Qui-Gon, who in his entire life had never feared another living thing, felt a cold, inexplicable terror as the delicate blossom bent slowly toward him. He pressed himself against the wall, realizing there was nowhere to go.

 

Doubtless Reive had realized that after some time.

 

"Edrei," Qui-Gon began, "Listen to me. You must get a healer. Your brother --"

 

"Is dying," Edrei said. "I can't save him. It's too late, Qui-Gon." She held the blossom closer, just below Qui-Gon's chin. He drew away, his stomach clenching in fear -- and yet as he felt the flower's presence in the Force, he felt strangely soothed, its siren call singing in his veins. Nevertheless, he fought the manacles that bound him. They would not yield.

 

"You must cooperate," Edrei repeated. "If you don't, Qui-Gon, I shall be forced to do grievous harm to your...beloved...apprentice." Her voice was laced with hatred and contempt.

 

"You will not hurt him, Edrei," Qui-Gon rasped. "You will not harm so much as a hair upon his head."

 

"Then yield to me," she said. "Don't be afraid. Make Reive's passage easy for him."

 

"Edrei --"

 

"Shhh." Edrei's eyes were dark and fathomless as she touched the blossom to Qui-Gon's skin. The flower moved against his cheek. Its touch burned Qui-Gon like a brand; he hissed aloud in pain, feeling a searing wetness sinking into his flesh. His vision wavered.

 

"Don't be afraid," Edrei said softly.

 

The wetness trickled down his neck, searing his flesh in its wake. It oozed its way down Qui-Gon's chest, sinking into the skin, burning him badly. When he looked down, the flesh was unmarred.

 

It is an illusion, he thought. I am fearful for no reason. I will not fear.

 

The flower's stem, still trailing roots, seemed to elongate, wrapping itself around his neck. Edrei's eyes were dark, murky pools, sucking him under. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see. The pain was agonizing; he felt it insinuating itself into his consciousness with a crystalline, unbearable clarity.

 

He felt another presence then, a dark and quiet presence.

 

/Be afraid, Jedi./

 

The man on the ground let out a low, rattling gasp and was still.

 

The roots of the blossom clawed into Qui-Gon's skin, burrowing into his flesh. An abyss opened before him, filled with black, bitter despair. He felt the panic and fear of his dreams returning.

 

He heard a harsh, mechanical, hissing breath in his ear.

 

/You did this./

 

He screamed.

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan lay upon the pallet, marshalling every ounce of strength he possessed.

 

Whoever that man had been, he was strong in the Force -- the memory of agony still reverberated through Obi-Wan's weakened body. But it was not a strength born of Light. Ceirn, in his ignorance and arrogance, could not see that. Obi-Wan had listened to the man as he'd spoken; the man's voice was full of knots, like twisting, intertwining serpents. Ceirn couldn't, or wouldn't, fathom the truth. Whether this man was the source of the danger that Obi-Wan had sensed -- though in truth they faced danger from all sides, it seemed -- he knew not, and cared not. His single intent was to find Qui-Gon and escape this place.

 

He tested the bonds that held him. His knees and ankles were tied with simple cord, but the restraints on his wrists were heavy manacles, and quite secure. It would take dexterity and patience to escape, and at the moment he was short on both. He breathed deeply, surrounding himself with the Force. He would need to bide his time. If he were left alone for a while, his skill and training would prevail.

 

He closed his eyes, summoning strength once again, and began to focus on the configuration of the shackles around his wrists.

 

The door creaked open, shattering his concentration. From his vantage point on the floor, Obi-Wan was able to see the outlines of two bodies. His heart beating rapidly, he struggled to a sitting position. Had Qui-Gon come?

 

His hopes were dashed at the sight of a black-cloaked figure who raised pale hands, pushing the hood from his face.

 

"Greetings, young Jedi."

 

 

tbc......

 

**********

 

The Senator allowed a beatific smile to curl his mouth as he contemplated the boy sitting on the floor, pressed against the wall as though he was desperate to be swallowed by it. The boy's eyes were wide, but undaunted despite the agony the Senator had wrought upon him; he studied the Senator coldly; his gaze was challenging, even combative.

 

That was well. The Senator enjoyed nothing more than a challenge.

 

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," he said softly, relishing the determined lack of fear in the boy's eyes. "Late of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant."

 

The boy remained motionless, wary.

 

"I am sorry that it was necessary to be so...firm with you, child," the Senator went on. "That will not happen in the future -- provided I have your cooperation." He moved closer to Obi-Wan. The hem of his cloak touched Obi-Wan's foot; Obi-Wan's eyes flicked to it and then back to the Senator's face, appraising.

 

The Senator smiled once more and withdrew a hypospray from his cloak. "Umak would, no doubt, want to be here for this," he said. "But I find myself unwilling to wait for her." He knelt beside Obi-Wan, controlling the unsteady thumping of his pulse. Gently, he brushed the hypospray against Obi-Wan's chin, thrilling at the first -- though it was ruthlessly suppressed -- flickering of fear in the boy's eyes. He heard the clink of metal as the boy shifted in the shackles that bound him to the wall.

 

"You know what this is, don't you," the Senator said gently, his eyes fixed now upon the shimmering gold liquid in the hypo. "That foolish girl allowed you to experience it without the benefit of focus. Without focus, potential can never be fully realized. The Jedi know that, do they not?"

 

Obi-Wan set his chin and stared past the Senator. The Senator chuckled and slipped one hand into Obi-Wan's tunic, resting it over his rapidly beating heart. Obi-Wan uttered a muffled protest and attempted to struggle, but the Senator held him in place with a judicious touch of the Force.

 

"The heart doesn't lie, Obi-Wan," the Senator said softly. "You're afraid."

 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and the Senator felt the boy's heart settle into a slow, steady beat.

 

The Senator smiled. "Very well," he said. "I think we'll start slowly." He removed his hand from Obi-Wan's warm skin, letting his fingers drift over the boy's throat. He held Obi-Wan by the chin, brushing a finger over the boy's gagged mouth. He then rolled up his own sleeve and plunged the hypospray into a vein, shivering as the liquid hit his bloodstream like slow-burning fire. He placed cool, dry fingertips upon the boy's cheek, and slowly insinuated himself inside Obi-Wan's conscious mind.

 

Obi-Wan's eyes flared wide in alarm, and he tried once again to extricate himself from the viselike grip of the Force, but to no avail; he was helpless before the superior strength of Darkness.

 

The Senator felt Obi-Wan slam up one shield after another in an effort to repel his advance, but this too was a futile attempt; the Senator parted the shields effortlessly, grasping a tendril of Obi-Wan's fleeing consciousness and holding it tightly. He waited, feeling the boy's struggle, the conflict as he fought to free himself, then delved more deeply, feeling the delightful sensation of Obi-Wan's resistance. Images cascaded through the boy's awareness into the Senator's, leaving Obi-Wan naked and exposed as the Senator wandered through the darkest, most secret corridors of the boy's mind, probing deeper than before, past his innocence, past Jinn.

 

There...and there. Anger, recklessness, shame, fear...there lay before him the deep inner heart of this Jedi boy, so beautifully flawed beneath his shining surface. The Senator unwrapped each wrong, each jewel of pride, and examined them minutely, swirling in a sea of faults, losing himself in the boy's glorious potential.

 

An image rose before him: the boy, older, grim, his eyes haunted and bitter with failure. The Senator reached out and tasted the bitterness; it was intoxicating, it swallowed him whole...

 

He came to himself to find his arms wrapped around a trembling Obi-Wan, his arousal pressing into Obi-Wan's thigh. He pulled away. It was not time...not yet.

 

Obi-Wan's eyes were wide with terror. Sweat beaded his skin. He made a visible effort to calm himself, closing his eyes and breathing deeply through his nose.

 

"It's not wrong to be afraid," the Senator said softly. "Poor child -- you deny your true self. I have journeyed through your mind, Obi-Wan. Shall I tell you what I've seen?"

 

Obi-Wan made no response; he sat motionless and silent.

 

"Proud boy," the Senator said. "What the Jedi have taught you...your arrogance will be the Order's undoing. Did you see that?"

 

Obi-Wan's eyes flew open, and his body tensed.

 

"Yes," the Senator said. "I cannot yet see how this will come to pass, but I have great faith in you. Have you seen it yourself, Obi-Wan -- in dreams, or visions?" He took Obi-Wan's chin in his hand and forced the boy to meet his eyes. "Our meeting was not a coincidence, young Jedi," he said softly. "The future is fluid; but we all have a destiny."

 

He contemplated Obi-Wan in silence. How best to turn this beauty without breaking it? Forcing him was out of the question, and he would not yield as easily as the Senator's other disciples. This boy was made of sterner material; he was Jedi. Therein lay the problem, and the potential.

 

"You are no doubt concerned for your master," he said.

 

Obi-Wan fixed him with a sudden furious glare. The Senator did not smile, but triumph curled around him like a soothing breeze.

 

"Never fear," he said. "He is unharmed. We shall reunite you soon." He rose to his feet, taking the torch from the wall. "I'll leave you now, Obi-Wan, but I'll return shortly. You...intrigue me."

 

He paused once to glance back at the boy. Obi-Wan's eyes were closed again as though he were meditating, but a crease had formed between his brows, and the set of his body was rigid.

 

The Senator could just discern that the boy's body was trembling. He smiled, ignoring his aching arousal, and closed the door of the cell behind him, plunging Obi-Wan into darkness.

 

**********

 

Maerin opened his eyes, stifling a grunt as Ceirn's toe dug into his side. He lay still, keeping his hands tightly pressed over his wound; any movement caused intense pain. The odor of blood was strong in the dank cell.

 

Ceirn crouched down beside him, hands clasped loosely between his knees. "Maerin...you're my own kinsman. How could you have done this to me?" His voice was soft, carrying no malice. "You and Fian both."

 

Maerin's mouth curved in a slight smile. "It's not personal."

 

"It is to me," Ceirn countered. "Disrupting centuries of tradition --"

 

"Despotism," Maerin said.

 

"Tradition," Ceirn frowned, "on the eve of my ascension to the throne -- that is a grievous personal affront, Maerin."

 

"We've petitioned for free elections," Maerin said. "We've demonstrated and boycotted --" A wave of pain made him close his eyes. "We've pursued every just and legal channel available to us. You wouldn't listen. Now --" He opened his eyes, meeting Ceirn's gaze. "Now you're listening."

 

Ceirn was silent a long while as he examined Maerin's face, seeing the pale skin, the sweat on his brow, the pain that had no doubt crept into his eyes. Ceirn reached down and gently pried Maerin's hands away from the wound. "Let me see that." He squinted at the torn flesh, the clotting blood.

 

Maerin closed his eyes, preparing for agony should Ceirn deal sudden violence to the wound. He felt the Gift's gentle embrace surrounding him and wrapped it about himself.

 

Ceirn only took Maerin's bloodstained hands and lay them back over the wound. "That's quite bad," he said. "Who heals the healers, Maerin?"

 

"Age-old question," Maerin muttered.

 

"Indeed. It doesn't seem as though we have much time left, Maerin, so I'll make this brief. I want to know who your co-conspirators are, and where they can be found. You can tell me now, or I can have the information tortured out of you. In your condition I doubt you'd last long."

 

Maerin closed his eyes again, not wanting Ceirn to see the near hysterical fear that welled up within him. The pain from the wound was terrible, but as long as he was able to lie still and focus, it could be borne. But if he were tortured...the pain would kill him, but not before they'd dragged everything they wanted from him. And yet...he could not simply betray his compatriots...especially Varden.

 

He gathered the Gift around himself again, feeling his strength ebbing. He looked at Ceirn, trying to hide the worst of his pain and terror. "Neither collar nor crown," he said quietly, sounding far braver than he felt.

 

Ceirn shook his head. "Very well," he replied. "I'll call the guards."

 

Maerin tried to still the wild trembling of his heart. His end was coming, but at what cost...

 

"Ceirn."

 

Ceirn turned his head. "Varden," he said. "What are you doing here?" He rose to his feet; Maerin watched as Ceirn reached out, touching the medical supplies Varden had procured. "What's all this?"

 

"For Maerin," Varden said. "His wound needs care."

 

"Soft-hearted Varden," Ceirn sneered. "Always finding wounded strays."

 

"That's right," Varden replied tonelessly.

 

"I don't have time to wait for him to heal," Ceirn said. "I'm having him taken to be interrogated."

 

Varden's voice became cold. "He will lose consciousness from loss of blood or pain, and die before he tells you anything useful. Is that what you want, Ceirn -- a martyr? That won't gain you favor with our people."

 

"I don't care about their favor," Ceirn retorted.

 

"You should," Varden said more gently. "If you did, they might soon care about yours."

 

Careful, Varden, Maerin begged silently.

 

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

 

"Let me heal him," Varden said. "If, as you suspect, he is a key figure among the rebellion, you'll need him whole and sound to gain information."

 

Ceirn appeared to consider this. "Perhaps...perhaps. We can draw his co-conspirators out with news of his torture."

 

"They will seek to liberate him."

 

"So much the better," Ceirn replied grimly. "But I won't wait long, Varden. My first act as sovereign will be to crush this rebellion permanently."

 

"Naturally," Varden replied.

 

Ceirn turned to look at Maerin, who met his gaze as steadily as he could. "You think I'm merciless?" Ceirn asked. Maerin frowned, not knowing whether or not the question was directed at him.

 

"The quality of your mercy is...diluted," Varden said.

 

Ceirn clasped his hands behind his back. "It's inferior to yours, I suppose. But what is Maerin to you, Varden? The life of one rebel..." He lifted one hand and dropped it. "You could never rule Pralderis."

 

"I never wanted to, Ceirn." Varden knelt, placing a suspensor globe above Maerin's chest and igniting it. "You can help me, Ceirn. He needs help...he's our kinsman, however distant."

 

"He's our kinsman no longer." Ceirn strode to the cell door. "No," he said. "Do it yourself, Varden. If you kill him before he can tell us anything useful, I'll strangle you with my bare hands." The door slammed on Varden's relieved sigh.

 

"This is madness," Maerin whispered.

 

"Shut up," Varden said briefly. "Did he hurt you?"

 

"No."

 

Varden took a deep breath and touched Maerin's cheek. "Tell me what to do."

 

Maerin pulled his shirt open. "You'll have to wash the wound first."

 

Varden paled as he examined the wound. "I don't want to hurt you."

 

"You're going to have to hurt me," Maerin said. "And I might faint, so I'm going to instruct you now. Before I do, I wanted to tell you something."

 

"Save it," Varden said.

 

"It's important."

 

"I'm sure it is," Varden replied, "but you're losing blood and I'm not in the mood to listen to your pontificating." He stripped off his cloak and pulled his hair into a tail.

 

Maerin closed his eyes with a faint grin. Typical Varden. "All right. It'll keep. But you're brave -- you know that?"

 

"That's right," Varden said, managing a weak grin. "I've got courage leaking out my ears. Maerin --"

 

"All right," Maerin said softly. He felt his strength dwindling by the moment; nevertheless, he began to speak, his voice a dry whisper, tinged with pain.

 

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon came to slowly, gradually registering that he lay on his side and that his hands were still manacled behind his back. There was a presence very close to him; he focused his gaze, feeling a faint but lingering throbbing in his temples.

 

The horror had passed. There were no dreams, no visions. There was only this room, and a lean human woman in a dark grey robe, who sat on the floor a few meters from him, surrounded by complex, unidentifiable equipment. She was pale, with short blonde hair and a narrow face. Her eyes were hooded and grey, and fixed upon him with an expression of intense curiosity. As his eyesight cleared, she smiled briefly and bent to her datapad, keying rapidly.

 

Qui-Gon shifted experimentally, feeling no disjointures in his body, only the same soreness that gripped his temples. He struggled to sit up, hampered by his bonds.

 

"Careful, Master Jinn," the woman said. Her voice was pleasantly husky and oddly familiar. Qui-Gon, his head filled with cloudy cobwebs, studied her.

 

"You be careful with him," another voice -- Edrei's, Qui-Gon realized -- snapped. "I don't want him harmed."

 

The blonde woman inclined her head minutely without turning in Edrei's direction. "No, of course not," she said. "Master Jinn...how do you feel?"

 

"I feel as though I've been kicked in the head," Qui-Gon returned. "Who are you?"

 

"How would you describe the quality of your pain?" the woman asked.

 

Qui-Gon rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes. "Where's my apprentice?"

 

"Your padawan is not far from here," the woman said. "I am told that you will be allowed to see him soon."

 

Qui-Gon lifted his head, his eyes narrowing at her use of Obi-Wan's title. He studied her again. Her eyes met his, clear, grey, and direct. "I know you," Qui-Gon said suddenly, recognition sparking within him. "Umak Leth. You were abducted from the Temple years ago."

 

The woman smiled mirthlessly. "I'm flattered you remember me, Master Jinn."

 

"We searched for you for months," Qui-Gon said. "We feared that you were dead."

 

"Hardly that."

 

"What happened to you?"

 

Leth folded her hands in her lap. "I'm amazed at your curiosity, Master Jinn; your own plight seems much more desperate. I'm well; that's all you need know."

 

Qui-Gon glanced at the equipment that surrounded her. "What are you doing? Why are you here?"

 

"The theiris," Leth said. "I'm studying it."

 

"Did you orchestrate all this?" Qui-Gon asked.

 

"No. You have her Highness to thank for that," Leth replied, throwing a nod at Edrei, who had come to kneel near Qui-Gon. Edrei threw her a glare. "I'm merely here to observe."

 

"Qui-Gon," Edrei said, reaching out to touch his cheek, "I'm sorry you were so distressed by the visions. The more resistant you are, the less pleasant the visions."

 

Qui-Gon drew back. "Do you have any idea what you've done, Edrei? You've singlehandedly ruined any chance Pralderis might have had for inclusion in the Republic. When the Council discovers what you've done --"

 

Edrei lay her fingertips on Qui-Gon's mouth. "The Council thinks you're dead, Qui-Gon," Edrei said. "Besides, do you really think --" She broke off, glancing at Umak Leth, who was watching her dispassionately. "As far as they know, you died in a skirmish in the Hold -- as did your apprentice. No more Jedi will be sent to Pralderis."

 

Qui-Gon gave her a look filled with coldness. "And what do you plan to do with us?"

 

"Obi-Wan is to be given to the Senator," Edrei said, her eyes filling with glee. "As for you -- you belong to me now."

 

Qui-Gon scowled. Senator? Clearly he'd missed some salient points during his unconsciousness. Best to keep things simple for now, he decided. "I want to see Obi-Wan at once."

 

"I'll see to it," Leth said. "Momentarily. I want you to tell me how you feel."

 

"I won't tell you a thing until I'm assured that Obi-Wan is unharmed."

 

Leth appeared to consider this. "Very well. Perhaps if you were confined together for brief periods of time, you would be more cooperative."

 

"No," Edrei snapped. "That was not in the arrangement."

 

"Maybe you'd prefer to discuss it with the Senator," Leth said quietly, ignoring the sudden angry tears that sprang to Edrei's eyes. "What say you, Master Jinn -- would that make you more inclined to cooperate?"

 

"Perhaps," Qui-Gon said neutrally.

 

"And perhaps not," Leth said with a touch of sardonic humor. "But I don't need your full cooperation, Master Jinn -- I've implanted a monitor inside you -- here." She leaned forward and touched a spot behind his ear. "It will transmit the data of your physiology to me. I wish you would consider sharing more, though -- it would help me immensely."

 

"I would have to consider the benefits to myself," Qui-Gon replied coolly.

 

Leth gave him a thin smile. "The Senator -- my employer, Master Jinn -- is most anxious to see the results of my testing. I might add that he is very interested in your padawan, but not to the extent that he would prevent some harm from coming to the boy should the tests be delayed due to your reluctance. He is acutely aware of your regard for your padawan." Her smile disappeared. "The Senator's tastes, Master Jinn, incline to pain. He will not be trifled with."

 

Though Qui-Gon's heart lurched unpleasantly, he chose to ignore the threat to Obi-Wan for the moment. "Who is this Senator, and what does he want with the theiris? Why are you helping him?"

 

Leth only gazed impassively. "The Thanach are not the only ones who appreciate visions."

 

"That didn't answer my questions."

 

"No, it didn't." Leth rose to her feet. "I'll see about allowing you to be with your apprentice. For his safety, Master Jinn, I wish you would carefully consider what I've said. Cooperate with me."

 

"I'll consider it," Qui-Gon said. "Knight Leth --"

 

She looked down at him coldly. "I am Jedi no longer," she said. "You'd do well to remember that." She turned and left the room.

 

As her footsteps died away, Qui-Gon leaned back, closing his eyes. The horror he'd experienced earlier seemed as amorphous as any dream, hazy and unrealistic. He concentrated on the flesh of his neck, where the flower's oozing stem had burned like fire. He felt no pain, not the slightest touch of discomfort. It had been an illusion, then; since such was the case, he was now prepared to defend himself against it, and felt ashamed that he had succumbed to hallucinations so easily.

 

"Qui-Gon," Edrei said softly.

 

"Leave me, your Highness," Qui-Gon said. "I have nothing to say to you."

 

"You don't understand, Qui-Gon," Edrei said, embracing him and all but crawling into his lap. "The theiris shows me all. I've seen myself as sovereign, with you by my side."

 

"Illusion," Qui-Gon said, not offering any resistance, but unbending all the same.

 

"No."

 

"And I am to share your brother's fate, am I not?"

 

Edrei's lips brushed against his. "He wasn't strong enough," she whispered. "But you are. You'll be my consort."

 

"Don't force me to say something that will wound you, Highness," Qui-Gon said evenly.

 

Edrei drew back and Qui-Gon opened his eyes, observing her hurt pride. She shook her head slowly. "This is not fair."

 

"Life is rarely fair," Qui-Gon said. "Any true sovereign would know that."

 

Edrei's mouth thinned into a hard line. "If it takes suffering to make you see the error of your ways, Qui-Gon, then so be it," she said. "There are ways to force your hand. I'll have you -- willing or unwilling." She slid a hand down his chest until it rested between his legs, fondling him intimately. He froze in shock and attempted to struggle away, but Edrei clung to him, straddling his body. She grasped a handful of his hair in her free hand and spoke into his ear. "The choice is yours."

 

"Your Highness." Leth had returned. "I am having Master Jinn removed to Padawan Kenobi's cell."

 

Edrei bit Qui-Gon's earlobe. "Don't forget," she breathed. "Willing or unwilling." She climbed off him and rose to her feet, gazing down at him. "Soon enough." She turned and walked out, her head held high.

 

Stunned, his organ stirring from the shocking contact, Qui-Gon collected himself and looked up at Leth. She stood with her arms folded, a half-smile on her narrow features. A number of guards stood behind her with blasters drawn.

 

"Her Highness seems quite taken with you," Leth said.

 

"So it seems," Qui-Gon replied quietly.

 

"My master has determined that you will be allowed to spend some time with your apprentice."

 

Qui-Gon frowned in puzzlement. "Your master?"

 

Leth smiled. "My employer." She stepped back, gesturing to the guards who unshackled Qui-Gon and dragged him up, roughly shoving him through the door and down the long corridor. The door was open, and Qui-Gon was pushed inside and thrown to the floor. The door closed behind him, leaving him in darkness and silence.

 

**********

 

Ceirn sat in the window, looking out to sea, one foot braced firmly against the sill. The other swung back and forth, in time with the drumming of his fingers against Obi-Wan's lightsaber, in counterpoint to the grey rain that tapped steadily against the thick glass.

 

Something was deeply wrong, and he could not fathom what it was. He was used to dissembling and duplicity; he was a Thanach, and Gifted, and not even Edrei's powers of perception could exceed his own. Deception, in the court of the Thanach, was as natural as springtime rain, and he had long become inured to its vagaries. But the currents that flowed through him now were unfamiliar and, he admitted to himself, frightening.

 

He was unused to being frightened. Nor was he given to brooding.

 

He gazed down at Obi-Wan's lightsaber, feeling a distinct prickle of unease.

 

A noise at the door made him lift his head. Edrei burst into the room, her face flushed, dark wine-colored skirts gathered up in one hand, the other hand pressed to her tightly laced bodice.

 

Ceirn's blood quickened. He knew the look in her eyes, but it had been a while since he'd seen it. He had no intention, however, of making things easy for her. "What's the matter with you?" he inquired blandly.

 

She let her skirts drop and moved to the window, standing close to Ceirn. "Qui-Gon," she breathed. "He spurned me, Ceirn."

 

Ceirn could feel the heat of Edrei's skin; looking down, he saw that her slight breasts were tinged with pink. "How dare he," he murmured. "Why didn't you force him?"

 

"If he refuses me again, I will," Edrei said. "I swear I will." Her eyes dropped to Obi-Wan's lightsaber, and her brow creased in anger.

 

"How?" Ceirn asked softly. "Tell me how."

 

Edrei opened her mouth to speak, then smiled, a slow, dark smile that made Ceirn's blood race. "No," she whispered. "You tell me how."

 

Ceirn took her hand and curled it around the weapon. "The guards would take him by the arms --"

 

"How many guards?"

 

"At least four," Ceirn said. "Qui-Gon is powerful."

 

"Yes."

 

"They would strip him naked, tearing his clothes roughly from his body. They'd force him to a table and chain him to it; he'd fight, of course, but he'd be helpless in the end." Ceirn unbound his hair from its tail and shook it free. One of Edrei's hands drifted up to stroke it; the other tightened on the saber.

 

"Then what?"

 

Ceirn moved the lightsaber so that it lay between his legs, harder than his own straining erection. He imagined Obi-Wan spread out before him, his body trembling and straining in fear and arousal. "Show me, 'drei," he whispered. "Show me."

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan sat in frozen apprehension as his cell door opened. He remained motionless as someone -- he couldn't see who -- was thrown in, crashing to the floor. The door slammed shut, and he heard the turn of the key in the lock.

 

His companion moved, and there was a scraping noise, then a soft, blessedly familiar voice. "Obi-Wan?"

 

Sagging in relief, Obi-Wan made a noise in his throat.

 

"Obi-Wan!"

 

Obi-Wan struggled forward in the darkness, making enough noise for Qui-Gon to find him with relative ease. He closed his eyes briefly as Qui-Gon's hands touched his face, soothing and warm. Qui-Gon pulled the gag from his mouth, and Obi-Wan had scarcely enough time to draw a deep breath before Qui-Gon's mouth was upon his. He kissed back just as fiercely, arching into Qui-Gon's embrace despite the constricting bonds.

 

"Master," he gasped, when Qui-Gon broke the kiss. "Master."

 

"Did they hurt you, Padawan? Are you --"

 

"I'm all right," Obi-Wan said, unwilling to tell Qui-Gon -- just yet -- of the violation he'd been forced to endure. At the moment he could barely acknowledge it himself. He shivered involuntarily, feeling Qui-Gon's arms tightening around him. "Are you unharmed, Master?"

 

"I'm fine. Padawan --" Qui-Gon kissed Obi-Wan again, his arm supporting Obi-Wan's body, his free hand cradling Obi-Wan's head. "Padawan, let me untie you."

 

Obi-Wan smiled ruefully. "The manacles are chained to the wall. I can't break them."

 

"Perhaps I -- they've taken my utility belt," Qui-Gon said, anger edging his tone. Obi-Wan felt hands on his waist. "They've taken yours as well."

 

Obi-Wan hid his disappointment. "You can untie my feet," he offered. "They're numb."

 

Qui-Gon set about unbinding the heavy cord bound around Obi-Wan's ankles and knees, then removed his boots to rub the circulation back into Obi-Wan's abused flesh.

 

Obi-Wan groaned in relief. "Thank you, Master."

 

Qui-Gon kissed him again. "You're cold. Where's your robe?"

 

"I don't know," Obi-Wan said. "They took it from me, I suppose."

 

Qui-Gon maneuvered Obi-Wan onto his lap, taking care not to wrench his bound arms. There was enough chain for Obi-Wan to lie in relative comfort propped against Qui-Gon. He eased back, resting his head against Qui-Gon's shoulder, inhaling his master's familiar scent.

 

Qui-Gon wrapped his spacious robe around them both, blanketing them in warmth against the chill dampness of the cell. He kissed Obi-Wan's cheek, then his ear. "You're sure you're unharmed?"

 

"Yes, Master." He twisted to meet Qui-Gon's lips, his tongue seeking Qui-Gon's mouth. Qui-Gon kissed him again, suckling Obi-Wan's tongue. "Master," he said, when he was able to speak again, "Ceirn said that the Council thinks we're dead. The Thanach don't intend to let us leave this place alive."

 

"Edrei said the same thing," Qui-Gon replied. "We'll look for the first opportunity to escape. We're well-guarded, though."

 

"I thought as much," Obi-Wan said glumly.

 

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, "has anyone come to see you -- anyone unfamiliar to you?"

 

Obi-Wan tensed. "Why do you ask?"

 

"Someone has."

 

"Yes," Obi-Wan admitted.

 

"And he didn't -- he didn't harm you in any way?"

 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, shamed at the intrusion that had taken place inside his mind. He'd fought with all his strength, but the man had trampled upon his shields so easily. "No, Master," he lied.

 

Qui-Gon was silent. Obi-Wan felt the grip around him tighten. "Don't lie to me, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said softly. "You have no reason to lie to me, ever."

 

Obi-Wan bowed his head, swallowing his shame. "He entered my mind by force, Master. It was..." He could not continue.

 

"All right," Qui-Gon soothed him. "All right, Padawan. We'll fight it together. Sleep now. You need your strength, and so do I. Sleep, love."

 

Obi-Wan settled against Qui-Gon, and began to meditate, letting an ancient and familiar chant lull him into restfulness and sleep.

 

He dreamed of a vast desert in which he wandered, hopelessly lost, utterly alone.

 

He awoke to find himself being pulled out of Qui-Gon's arms. He writhed furiously, startled into action, but there were many hands upon him, flinging him flat and thrusting the gag back into his mouth, unchaining his hands from the wall. He heard further sounds of a struggle and of muffled, angry protests; more guards had seized Qui-Gon, bound and gagged him also, and were dragging him from the cell.

 

"Bring them," a voice said. "Bring them both."

 

tbc.....

 

 

**********

 

A strident whine from the monitor beside Umak's bed roused her from a deep sleep. She sat up, fumbling for the light, and pulled the monitor toward herself, scanning the data on the screen.

 

Qui-Gon's heart rate had rapidly and unexpectedly elevated. Hormone levels indicating exertion and emotional distress had also risen. He was moving, or being moved -- unwillingly, it seemed.

 

She dressed quickly and left the room, lightsaber in hand.

 

**********

 

Varden heard the commotion in the hall and blinked. Realizing he'd fallen asleep, he cursed himself under his breath and turned to Maerin, unmindful of the ache brought about by sleeping on a stone floor. Maerin's color was still frighteningly pale and his breath whistled oddly from his throat. Varden felt a deep pang of fear. "Maerin," he whispered.

 

Maerin stirred awake, opening one eye. "What?" His voice was rusty from sleep and pain.

 

"How are you?"

 

"Still here, apparently. What's that noise?"

 

"I don't know -- the Jedi, I think. They're being held down here."

 

Maerin sighed. "I tried, Varden...I tried to warn them."

 

"At the cost of your own freedom and very nearly your life, you damned fool. What are they to you?" Varden tried to keep his voice from shaking, but failed.

 

"Innocent. This is not their war, Varden. I don't need to tell you that."

 

Varden sighed harshly and bowed his head. "I should have knocked you over the head two years ago."

 

Maerin laughed, half-choking. "Wouldn't have worked. Anyway, we've had a good time." He laughed again and turned to his side, coughing, his face contorted in pain.

 

"Maerin -- " Varden was horrified to see a dark smear on Maerin's hand when he took it away from his mouth. "Is that -- Maerin, are you all right? Shouldn't that have --"

 

Maren gave a weak but dismissive wave of his hand. "It's all right -- it's just...a residual effect."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Of course I'm sure. Varden, listen to me -- you've got to help them. Help them get out of the Hold."

 

"Let them rot," Varden replied angrily. "What good have they done you?"

 

"They saw through the negotiations -- you told me that. But they couldn't save themselves from Edrei, and from -- can't you feel it, Varden? There's something wrong here. I can sense it."

 

Varden shook his head. "I don't feel anything. I've never had the Gift the way you do, or Ceirn or Edrei. Don't talk, Maerin -- save your strength."

 

Maerin grasped Varden's tunic and held on with grim determination. "Listen to me. We know -- we both know that there is a chance that neither of us will survive this. But we cannot drag the innocent into this fight, Varden -- that would make us no better than our ancestors who spilled innocent blood until the ground was soaked with it."

 

"At least we would be no worse," Varden said bitterly.

 

Maerin's hand, sticky with drying blood, found Varden's. "I know that's anger talking. Save it, Varden -- I fear you'll need its strength before long."

 

"What do you --"

 

"Go to the Jedi. Do what you can for them. And get out of here -- Ceirn will find you still with me, and he'll suspect you're here for more than healing."

 

"Damn fool," Varden said, his eyes blurring. "I am."

 

Maerin squeezed Varden's hand briefly and let go. "Go on."

 

Varden arranged the blankets around Maerin, making sure he was as sheltered as was possible against the dankness of the cell. Getting to his feet, Varden backed away, his eyes never leaving Maerin's face. He paused at the door. "Maerin -- what did you want to say to me before?"

 

Maerin smiled wearily. "It'll keep."

 

Varden felt another sharp tug of fear. "Until you get well."

 

"Right. Go on, do I have to kick you out myself?"

 

Varden smiled and unlocked the door. Once it was closed, he leaned against it, clenching his fist tightly, feeling the warmth of Maerin's hand and the sticky, dried blood. He uncurled his fingers, staring at the brownish-red streaks.

 

He did not want to help the Jedi, but Maerin...

 

He set off down the corridor.

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon fought to keep the guards from fastening the chains that would secure him to the wall, but it was a fruitless struggle; there were too many guards, and a crashing blow to his jaw with the butt of a blaster rendered him half-conscious, incapable of fighting. Through what seemed a dizzying cacophony of noise and movement, he was swiftly and tightly bound, each wrist and ankle fastened to iron rings in the wall and floor.

 

Hearing Obi-Wan's cry of anger and worry as he was struck, Qui-Gon wanted to reassure him. I'm all right, Padawan, he thought, producing only a stifled grunt through the gag. Lifting his head and focusing his wavering vision, he saw that Obi-Wan was lying on the floor, a guard standing over him with blaster drawn, one booted foot upon Obi-Wan's neck, pinning him to the ground. Obi-Wan's eyes were free of fear, but furious; he was clearly concerned for Qui-Gon's safety. Despite the danger, Qui-Gon's heart was gladdened; unable to speak, he encouraged Obi-Wan with his eyes, and fancied he saw an answering gleam from Obi-Wan's.

 

"Qui-Gon."

 

Qui-Gon wrenched his gaze from Obi-Wan to see Edrei and Ceirn standing before him, their young faces flushed with high color.

 

"I can't wait," Edrei breathed. She dropped to her knees before Qui-Gon and reached out to touch his face. "I'm going to take the gag out, Qui-Gon. That one," she said, pointing at the guard who held Obi-Wan pinioned to the ground, "will kill your apprentice if you attempt any tricks. Do you understand me?"

 

Qui-Gon stared at her evenly.

 

"Or perhaps," she said, "I'll let the guards have him first. Some of them might enjoy that."

 

Qui-Gon glanced at Ceirn, who was smiling, then back at Edrei. He felt the anger rising in him, acknowledged it, then released it.

 

With a snarl, Edrei tore the gag from Qui-Gon's mouth. "You told me that all Jedi seek to attain perfect serenity. I wonder how serene you'd be if you were forced to watch them take him?"

 

Qui-Gon shook his head slowly. "You're a fool, Edrei."

 

Edrei's eyes widened. She drew her hand back and struck Qui-Gon across the face with all her strength. "You damned -- who do you think you're talking to?"

 

"A child," Qui-Gon said calmly. "A spoiled, selfish child who would squander the benefits and blessings life and privilege have granted her. The Gift will not enable you to rule Pralderis, Edrei, nor will dreams or hallucinations."

 

"Well said, Qui-Gon," Ceirn murmured. At Edrei's stunned expression, he smiled. "It's all right -- I know, 'drei. I've always known. You've always been exceptionally poor at masking your feelings. Did you think I couldn't sense what you had planned? Is that why your friend the Senator is here? Are you hoping to gain Republic favor somehow, to overthrow my throne? Poor 'drei -- he's a bigger dreamer than you are."

 

"Your throne seems much at risk, Highness," Qui-Gon said to Ceirn. "Perhaps the old methods of rule bear examination."

 

Ceirn only smiled. "Perhaps."

 

Edrei looked from Ceirn to Qui-Gon, her face dark crimson. Qui-Gon felt a moment's pity for her; she seemed a true child, lost and bewildered. Then her face changed, becoming cold and rigid with anger. "Get out," she hissed at the guards, "except for you." She pointed at the one who held Obi-Wan down.

 

Qui-Gon watched, his heart sinking, as the guards left the room. He looked at Obi-Wan, who was assessing the room's interior, seeking a method of escape.

 

"Bring him closer."

 

The guard hauled Obi-Wan to his feet, then forced him to his knees a meter away from Qui-Gon, the blaster pressed firmly against Obi-Wan's temple. Obi-Wan's clothes were dirty and disheveled, and he looked tired, but his demeanor was brave, dauntless; Qui-Gon was proud of him.

 

Edrei left the room and returned a few moments later, a theiris blossom clutched in her hand. Qui-Gon felt his heart rate increase, and a cold tendril of fear spiked its way into his insides. He held himself very still. It is only illusion, he thought.

 

Edrei knelt before him again, holding the flower out. It seemed to quiver, to bend toward him with sunny benevolence. "Reive understood the visions for a long while, Qui-Gon, but after a time, he couldn't cope with their intensity -- he hadn't the strength. You have many times his strength, and the wisdom to interpret the visions."

 

Qui-Gon was suddenly very tired. "What do you hope to gain from them?"

 

"I've seen the future," Edrei whispered. "It's glorious, Qui-Gon. Share it with me."

 

"Get it over with, 'drei," Ceirn sighed.

 

Qui-Gon looked at him steadily. "Did you countenance the imprisonment and death of your own brother, Highness? I think you're as unfit to rule as Edrei."

 

Ceirn's smile disappeared, his expression becoming sullen. He stalked over to Obi-Wan and seized Obi-Wan's tail of hair, yanking his head back. "'drei -- did you hear me? Get it over with -- I'm taking Obi-Wan to my room."

 

"Let him go," Qui-Gon said, his voice deceptively soft.

 

Ceirn released Obi-Wan with a mock-apologetic gesture. He strode to where Qui-Gon sat chained and, reaching beneath his cloak, withdrew Obi-Wan's lightsaber. He held it contemplatively for a moment, then placed the tip of the hilt beneath Qui-Gon's chin, lifting it. "I think it will be worse," he said softly, "if you don't watch, Qui-Gon. Then you'll only be able to wonder about what I intend to do with him."

 

Edrei pushed the saber hilt away impatiently. "That's enough." She took the blossom and touched her finger to its center. She sucked on her fingertip, then touched the flower's center again. She held her finger, wet and speckled with golden pollen, to Qui-Gon's mouth; repulsed, Qui-Gon jerked his head away.

 

Edrei smiled. "Qui-Gon," she said in mild reproof, "you can't fight it forever." She settled herself between Qui-Gon's legs and pushed up his tunics, her hand intimately seeking, slipping beneath his leggings. She smiled in delighted triumph as her hand closed over his organ. "Oh, Qui-Gon..."

 

Qui-Gon darted a look at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was angry; his teeth clamped tightly on the gag that smothered his furious protests. The blaster remained at his neck, though, and wisely, he did not struggle.

 

"It's all right, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, though he felt sickened that Obi-Wan would be forced to witness his violation. Ceirn was right, though; it would be worse to have him taken away.

 

Ceirn knelt beside Obi-Wan and brushed his lips over Obi-Wan's cheek. "Watch, Obi-Wan." Obi-Wan attempted to twist away, but the guard jammed the blaster into his neck, stilling him.

 

"Padawan -- don't struggle. Edrei," Qui-Gon said hoarsely, trying to ignore his growing hardness as Edrei skillfully manipulated his organ, "stop this. Stop --"

 

"Quiet," Edrei said. Still fondling him, she darted forward and kissed his mouth. Qui-Gon tasted the bitter pollen of the theiris, and began to fight the bonds in earnest. He was bound so securely, however, that frantic movement would not dislodge Edrei from her quest.

 

Above the tumult, Qui-Gon heard a slam, and the familiar hum of a lightsaber. Edrei let out a screech as Umak Leth grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her away from Qui-Gon, holding the shimmering violet blade to her throat.

 

"Stupid girl," Leth said softly, apparently oblivious to Edrei's wailings of pain. She gave the girl a leisurely shake, and Edrei screamed, her hands flying up to wrest herself free of Leth's grasp. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

 

"Let go," Edrei sobbed. "Ceirn!"

 

"Let her go," Ceirn said, igniting Obi-Wan's blade.

 

Leth didn't even spare him a glance. "Don't pick up a weapon if you don't know how to use it, Highness."

 

Ceirn looked uncertain, then held the blade to Qui-Gon's throat. "You seem to value his hide. Let her go, or I'll kill him. I know enough about these things to know that one touch is enough to be lethal."

 

"Umak," Qui-Gon said quietly, "let the girl go."

 

Leth raised clear grey eyes to Qui-Gon's. She lifted a hand, and Obi-Wan's saber flew from Ceirn's grasp, clattering against the far wall, falling harmlessly to the floor. Leth released Edrei with a sneer of utter disdain. Edrei scrambled into Ceirn's arms, sobbing.

 

Another voice sounded from the door. "What's happening?"

 

Leth gave Qui-Gon a brief, exasperated look before turning to Varden Thanach. "Another one. You seem to have more sense than your impetuous siblings, Sire. I suggest you escort them to their quarters before someone suffers loss of life -- and I promise you, it will not be the Jedi."

 

Edrei spat a guttural curse at Leth. "I should have you killed," she snarled through tears.

 

Leth deactivated her blade and rested one hand on her hip. "Do you have any idea how the Senator would react if he knew that you had tried to interfere with my tests?"

 

"Why should I care about him?" Edrei cried.

 

"Don't, drei," Ceirn soothed her. He glared futilely at Leth. "Who are you -- the Senator's bodyguard?"

 

Leth ignored Ceirn. "You should care, you ignorant chit," she said. "You can't invite Darkness to live inside you and then expect it to depart when you decide it's convenient." She nodded toward Obi-Wan. "Take him back to his cell."

 

"He stays with me," Qui-Gon said.

 

"Take him back," Leth said implacably. The guard nodded blankly and dragged Obi-Wan to his feet. Leth drew close to Obi-Wan and placed a hand under his chin. She gazed silently at him for a moment, then shook her head. "Go on," she said, nodding toward the door.

 

The guard hauled Obi-Wan away roughly. Obi-Wan looked back at Qui-Gon, and made a sudden bid for freedom, whirling and kicking out at the guard with a well-aimed foot. The guard crashed to the ground, but Leth sprang into action, overtaking Obi-Wan in a single leap. She pinned him against the wall; Qui-Gon felt the shimmer of the Force in the room.

 

Obi-Wan struggled briefly, let out a choked gasp, and slumped toward the floor.

 

Qui-Gon surged against his chains, but they held fast. "Obi-Wan --"

 

"Never fear, Master Jinn," Leth said softly. "He's not hurt." She turned away, nodding contemptuously at the guard. "You can take him now. I think he'll cooperate." The guard scuttled to his feet, lifted Obi-Wan's limp form, and hurried from the room as fast as possible with his burden.

 

Leth smiled thinly at Varden, Ceirn, and Edrei, who stood watching her in horrified fascination. "Get out. Now," she said, when they did not obey at once.

 

Ceirn guided Edrei from the room. Varden lingered, staring at Leth, who matched his gaze equably.

 

"You're not like them," she said.

 

"No," Varden replied. He turned to Qui-Gon. "You are unharmed, Jedi?"

 

"For the moment," Qui-Gon replied.

 

"I see." He stared at Qui-Gon a moment longer. "I would not have had this happen to you."

 

"You're still regent," Qui-Gon said. "If you will not free me, at least free my padawan."

 

"You've seen too much, Jedi," Varden whispered. "If I freed you now, you would bring your Republic, your Senate down upon our heads, and we would be just as --" He broke off, coloring deeply.

 

"As what?" Qui-Gon asked.

 

Varden shook his head angrily and strode from the room. Leth looked at Qui-Gon, her expression inscrutable. "I'll return shortly."

 

**********

 

 

Once Qui-Gon was alone, he examined his chains. He tried for several long moments to free himself. No amount of pulling or application of the Force would persuade them to weaken; exhausted, Qui-Gon leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes, trying to get some sense of Obi-Wan's presence, but found nothing but a weak glimmer of the Force. Obi-Wan was most likely still unconscious. Umak had not lied, Qui-Gon was sure; doubtless Obi-Wan would waken soon enough, with only a slight headache to account for the extraordinary application of the Force Leth had used. But the other hazards Obi-Wan faced --

 

Qui-Gon's heart hammered in anxiety. They'd both suffered and survived casual brutality in the past, but this danger carried with it a certain ominous and intimate quality; for the first time, he felt true fear on Obi-Wan's behalf. His padawan had already suffered some sort of mental violation; if Ceirn tried anything --

 

Calm, he told himself. There is a way out. There is no problem that cannot be solved by calm and rational thinking. We will escape.

 

He opened his eyes to see Leth standing before him, watching him intently, a black case clasped in her arms.

 

"I suppose I owe you a debt of thanks," Qui-Gon said.

 

Smiling, Leth knelt upon the floor, opening the case and removing unnameable and complex equipment. "For preserving your virtue?"

 

"More or less," Qui-Gon replied dryly.

 

"Those Thanach are a waste of the Force," Leth said. "Unharnessed power -- or undisciplined talent, I can't tell which -- in any event, they're a danger to themselves."

 

"They're a danger to the entire planet, Umak," Qui-Gon said. "Surely you can see that."

 

"The sovereignty of Pralderis is not my concern."

 

"But the theiris is," Qui-Gon said. "And the ruling family is entwined with the theiris -- did you see Edrei's brother before he died?"

 

"Yes."

 

"That was a waste of the Force."

 

Leth sat back on her heels. "As it happens, Master Jinn, I agree with you. But my immediate goal is isolating and identifying the hallucinogenic components of the theiris, and I'd prefer not to be distracted, if you don't mind."

 

"You truly aren't a Jedi," Qui-Gon observed, "if life means so little to you."

 

"I told you I wasn't a Jedi."

 

"Tell me the circumstances of your abduction."

 

"I wasn't abducted," Leth said patiently, taking a vial from the case. "I left voluntarily."

 

Qui-Gon's eyes flicked to the vial; it was filled with golden liquid. "To join your master?"

 

Leth glanced at him. "Yes."

 

"I see."

 

"You should be glad, Master Jinn," Leth said softly, "that you do not. I am sorry for you. I am sorry for your padawan."

 

"What is it that you have in store for us, Knight Leth?" He used the title with casual deliberation.

 

Leth plunged a needle into the vial. "Suffering." Her expression was sober.

 

Qui-Gon held perfectly still, though cold dread filled his heart. "You don't need to inject me."

 

"Please, Master Jinn -- I am not weak-minded, nor am I easily persuaded. I have a task to accomplish. I regret that you must suffer; you were kind to me at the Temple. Nevertheless --" Swiftly, her hand moved, and Qui-Gon felt a brief stinging sensation at his neck.

 

Leth sat back and stared at a small monitor in her hand. "Your heart rate's elevating."

 

"Have you ever tried theiris?" Qui-Gon returned.

 

Leth's eyes met his. "No." She picked up the blossom that Edrei had dropped, examining it. "It doesn't even appear to be dying," she marveled. "They do seem to be responding to you."

 

"I don't want this substance given to my padawan," Qui-Gon said. He fancied he could feel the liquid traveling through his veins. "Do what you like to me -- perform tests, observe -- but leave him alone."

 

"Your feelings for your padawan betray you, Master Jinn," Leth said softly. "More unscrupulous individuals than I would use that knowledge against you both."

 

Qui-Gon was silent for a moment. "I have a master's concern for his apprentice. Surely the memory of such a bond can't be lost to you already."

 

"You love him as more than a student," Leth replied. "Even if my master had not told me so, it is plainly written on your face, Master Jinn. I am sorry."

 

Not sorry enough, Qui-Gon thought. He felt his field of perception narrowing, and fought to stay alert and conscious. The theiris glowed brightly in Leth's hand. It is only illusion, Qui-Gon told himself. Hallucination. Artificial stimuli.

 

The flower shimmered, seeming to pulse with light in the dimness of the room.

 

"Stay calm, Master Jinn. Tell me what you see."

 

The room became black; he saw nothing.

 

I see nothing, he thought. Nothing.

 

There was silence, and then, a hissing -- rhythmic, like breathing.

 

He heard a child's voice.

 

Qui-Gon, sir...

 

It was so innocent; why need he fear?

 

Qui-Gon, sir...

 

He felt the press of a child's hand -- warm, moist, utterly trusting. But he saw blackness, only blackness.

 

"Master Jinn."

 

The weight in his chest was heavy; he felt a spreading, burning sensation, agonizing, blinding.

 

Qui-Gon --

 

"Obi-Wan..."

 

NO

 

The scream was in his head -- illusion, torture, freezing agony as an entire planet died.

 

Obi-Wan!

 

The blackness enveloped him.

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan roused to consciousness slowly, his temples throbbing. He lay his cheek on the cool surface of the stone floor, trying to clear the whirling, black stars that danced before his wavering vision.

 

He tensed. Qui-Gon --

 

Qui-Gon was safe, for the moment; that woman, whoever she was, had prevented Edrei from forcing herself upon him. Obi-Wan felt a dim sort of gratitude to her, though surely she was part of whatever scheme that had caused them to be held prisoner here. She had a lightsaber; had she been a Jedi? And she had seemed to know Qui-Gon...

 

He stirred, then realized that though the heavy iron manacles were still clamped around his wrists, they'd been separated; his hands were no longer bound together. He sat up, yanking the gag from his mouth and throwing it aside. He was cold and desperately thirsty; it had been a full day, he guessed, since he'd been given any water. He crawled around the perimeter of the cell, looking for a spigot or water tube, and found nothing. There was a waste hole, but nothing else.

 

He went to the door, peering into what seemed to be a primitive keyhole. He saw a dim light, but little else; exerting pressure on the lock was fruitless, as was hammering on the door and attempting to harness the Force to free himself.

 

Frustrated, he sat against the warmer interior wall of the cell, wrapping his arms around his knees to conserve body heat. Someone would come eventually, he reasoned. He would save his strength and overpower them, then find Qui-Gon and quit this place forever, mission or no mission. They'd been duped into coming here, and Obi-Wan was unwilling to be a pawn in the Thanach's twisted games any longer.

 

Unbidden, the image of that man -- a man he'd not seen before -- arose in his mind and with it, the memory of his consciousness laid bare before him. The man had pushed his shields away as though they were nothing, and Obi-Wan, unused to such strength, had been terrified before the assault.

 

It would not happen again, he swore. He would not allow such fear to overtake him, to compromise his training.

 

He settled into calmness, thinking of Qui-Gon. It was ironic that their mutual discovery should take place in such a grim locale, but perhaps, Obi-Wan thought, it was for the best. How much grimmer would the place be had he not the memory of Qui-Gon's mouth on his to sustain him? That was a question he was glad not to have to answer.

 

He smiled. Even in this horrible dungeon, he was happier than he'd thought possible. Qui-Gon had brought him to life, had evoked compassion and sensitivity from him. Obi-Wan had been a serious child; Qui-Gon had awakened his natural yet dormant mischief and confidence. And, Obi-Wan thought, he had newly roused Obi-Wan's sensual appetites; Obi-Wan longed to return to the Temple, to take Qui-Gon to his own bed.

 

He hoped that he had given Qui-Gon half as much pleasure as he'd received. Certainly Qui-Gon had been passionate, generously so, and his hands on Obi-Wan's body were pure skill, molten heat.

 

Obi-Wan let out a soft laugh; he was becoming aroused. There's a way to turn up body heat, he thought wryly. He rested his forehead on his arms and imagined Qui-Gon holding him.

 

**********

 

The Senator gazed down at Qui-Gon's prone figure. "Have you been able to rouse him?"

 

"Yes. He is lucid, once the theiris is purged."

 

"And the flower survives?"

 

"It thrives, my Lord."

 

"Good. Good. And what of the girl -- has she bothered you again?"

 

"I've not seen her since the last incident. She is wise to avoid me."

 

"And young Obi-Wan?" He felt an exquisite satisfaction merely saying the boy's name.

 

"He has been given nourishment," Leth replied. "His water is infused with essentials, as well as drugs to assure docility, but he's been given no food. He grows weak from hunger."

 

"He is vulnerable. I will see him tomorrow."

 

"One more day, my Lord. I need to --"

 

The Senator turned deceptively mild eyes upon Umak. "Tomorrow."

 

"Yes, my Lord."

 

"I would feel him yield before me again," the Senator whispered. "And perhaps...perhaps I will take his body as well as his mind."

 

Umak said nothing, which was as it should be.

 

**********

 

On what he guessed was the second day of his solitary imprisonment, Obi-Wan was given water, sent in a closed container through a small portal in the bottom of the cell door. Three days, and still no food; Obi-Wan was hungry, his stomach making plaintive demands that he could not satisfy. On the fourth day, he was dizzy and faint from hunger; his stomach lurched when he drank the cold water, and he spent some time leaning miserably above the waste hole, retching it up.

 

He slept poorly, feeling feverish and afraid that he was becoming ill. His face, when he scratched at his growing beard, was hot and dry, and his vision, by now fairly accustomed to the darkness of his cell, was wavering at his best moments. Anxiety for Qui-Gon made his thoughts race; he could not consciously relax, nor succumb to the soothing non-time of meditation.

 

Yesterday, he'd heard a scream through the thick walls of his cell, and frantically hoped that it was not Qui-Gon's voice he'd heard, though it had sounded like Qui-Gon. At the second scream, Obi-Wan had raced to the door of his cell and hammered upon it, shouting, but if anyone had heard him, they ignored him. Finally, defeated, famished, his hands bruised and bleeding, he'd curled up in the corner of the cell and slept fitfully, haunted by those cries.

 

More time passed; Obi-Wan could no longer distinguish day from night, nor lucid consciousness from the shadowy twilight sleep that seemed to slip over him, taking him unaware. His hunger had passed, leaving only a dull emptiness, a vague gnawing at his insides. He realized that his captors were drugging him; that, along with the lack of food, accounted for his extreme lethargy. He could no longer rouse himself to exercise or to perform meditation; he simply lay in the darkness, waiting.

 

As he lay in the corner of the cell, there was a scraping noise. His cell door opened, and he heard a soft voice he recognized as Edrei's. "Do as you like -- only keep it quiet."

 

The door shut, and Obi-Wan winced as a light was shone in his face. He blinked, unable to bear its brilliance. He felt a hand on his face, turning it this way and that. He tried to speak, but only a dim croak emerged from his throat.

 

Then he was turned over roughly, and he felt his leggings being tugged down. He surged upward, but his arms were pinned to the floor. He opened his mouth to cry for help, hoping that he could produce more than a harsh whisper, but at the first sound, a heavy hand closed over his mouth, and another hand forced his head to the floor, crushing his face against the cold stone.

 

His legs were wrenched apart, and he thrashed and fought with all his rapidly waning strength, but his assailants were too many; he couldn't fight them all.

 

He felt a hand on his backside, caressing with false gentleness, and then the hand thrust roughly between his cheeks, spreading him.

 

"Grease him up," someone whispered. Obi-Wan felt something cold and slippery forced inside him, and bucked and writhed to no avail. Master, he thought, please --

 

Then the hands were gone, and Obi-Wan heard choking noises. He gasped as one of his assailants fell atop him, crushing the breath from his body. He struggled to free himself from the tangle of arms and legs, and felt a sudden cold menace as a garment -- a cloak -- brushed against his hand.

 

"Obi-Wan."

 

Obi-Wan's last conscious thought before blackness overtook him was that he had not so much escaped one danger as plunged headlong into another.

 

 

**********

 

Umak crouched before an unconscious Qui-Gon, observing him closely, watching the rapid tic of one eyelid as a dream -- malevolent, judging by the sweat on his furrowed brow and the restless motion of his bound hands -- held him in a seemingly unbreakable grip.

 

Umak made a notation on her datapad, then reached forward and pressed a hypospray to Qui-Gon's neck. She sat back on her heels, watching intently as Qui-Gon's eyes fluttered open.

 

"Umak," Qui-Gon murmured. "Still here, I see."

 

"As are you," she replied.

 

Qui-Gon smiled a little. "I had no idea I was so fascinating."

 

"I admire your strength, Qui-Gon."

 

"It's so much more impressive when I'm not chained to a wall and incessantly drugged. But I don't suppose you'd care to observe me under other conditions," Qui-Gon returned.

 

"If I could, I would."

 

"Don't be absurd," Qui-Gon said, closing his eyes wearily. "You can do whatever you like. You're free."

 

"As free as you were with the Jedi?" Umak inquired with a touch of bitterness. "I remember your confrontations with the Council, Master Jinn. They were legendary. I always admired your tenacity; you fought them and lost so often."

 

Qui-Gon opened his eyes and stared at her. "You're confusing anger with ideological dispute."

 

"If you like," Umak said indifferently, turning her attention back to her datapad. "The last series of visions you had seemed particularly disturbing to you."

 

"Perhaps."

 

"Your resistance does seem to make the unpleasantness more intense. Your physiology responds in kind."

 

"I hope I'm not disrupting your tests," Qui-Gon said with patently false solicitude.

 

Umak gave him a wide, genuine smile. "If you were, I'd never tell you, Qui-Gon."

 

"I want to see Obi-Wan."

 

Umak sighed. "Tell me what I want to know, and I'll see that he is brought to you."

 

"Bring him to me," Qui-Gon countered, "and I'll tell you."

 

"I can't," Umak said. "My master is with him now."

 

"Who is your master? What does he want with Obi-Wan?"

 

Umak glanced at her datapad. "You're upset."

 

"I want to see my apprentice." Qui-Gon's voice was deadly quiet, "and I don't care what your master wants. If you're not giving Obi-Wan the theiris, then what --" Qui-Gon clamped his lips together.

 

"I have tried to delay the tests, Qui-Gon," Umak said somberly. "I would not have you suffer undue pain. But...the Senator was most anxious. He knows that I have the hard data I need. What I do now..." She shrugged. "For what it's worth, I did try to stall him, Qui-Gon. Your apprentice -- my master is enamored of him. His mind is young, powerful. The Senator would see through Obi-Wan's eyes all that he wishes to see."

 

"And what is that?" Qui-Gon whispered harshly.

 

Umak hesitated. "It's better that you do not know. I have some advice for you, Master Jinn -- resign yourself to your death, and to Obi-Wan's death. Would that they might be less painful than I fear."

 

"Why do you do this?" Qui-Gon asked. "Do you hate the Jedi so much?"

 

"That has nothing to do with this."

 

"Doesn't it?"

 

Umak's eyes flashed. "Don't try my patience, Qui-Gon. I cannot prevent your death. The least you can do is to cooperate with me. I can make your death, if not your padawan's, less painful."

 

"I don't know what you've become, Umak, but I am sorry for you," Qui-Gon said sadly.

 

Umak rose to her feet. "I'll give your apprentice your regards. You should hope that he will not be conscious to hear them." She turned and left the cell, ignoring Qui-Gon's shouts, the rattling of the chain as he struggled against his bonds. She would have to inject him again -- he would fight and struggle, as he had fought and struggled every time she'd injected him. He was bound securely, though, unable to flee. He would suffer agonies again as the visions overtook him. His reactions to the visions varied wildly -- at times he would simply sit frozen, his expression terrified; at others, he cowered and cringed like a child. At still other times, he would scream. No matter the reaction, his suffering was apparent.

 

Her master would enjoy Qui-Gon's torment. That, at least, was something upon which she could rely.

 

**********

 

On the eve of his coronation, Ceirn sat before the window of his room, looking out to sea. As a crash of thunder rattled the window in its frame, he pulled his fur-lined robe more tightly around himself and shivered.

 

"It won't be fit weather to hold the coronation at Kell Stone."

 

Ceirn glanced at his older brother, pale and solemn in dark green robes and tunic. "I don't care if the sea floods the isle -- the coronation will be held at Kell Stone. I won't be deprived of that right."

 

"Fewer people will come."

 

"They'll come," Ceirn asserted. "It's been too long since a Thanach took the crown."

 

Varden sat in a chair near the window, stretching his legs to absorb the warmth of the fire. "You'd do well to make the celebration subdued. Our economy is --"

 

"The economy will recover," Ceirn interrupted. "I want them made aware that I am their sovereign. I won't be denied my birthright, Varden."

 

"That's right," Varden said quietly. "It's all yours now."

 

Ceirn looked away, fingering Obi-Wan's lightsaber.

 

"Do you know who attended Reive's burial?" Varden asked. "Myself, the gravediggers, and the kitchen drudge who brought his food."

 

"Then it was well-attended."

 

"You let Edrei do that to him. You didn't try to stop her."

 

"And where were you?" Ceirn flashed. "In the Southlands doing who knows what. It's no wonder the economy is as poor as it is with you neglecting your duties."

 

"I was given bulletins on the state of Pralderis' economy," Varden said. "Had I known about Reive, I would have come home. By the time I'd returned, his...his mind was already gone -- all for Edrei and her obsession."

 

"Mind your tongue," Ceirn said coolly. "You're only regent for one more day, Varden."

 

Varden shook his head and stared into the fire.

 

"I hope some rebels turn up again," Ceirn said. "This time, we are prepared for them. I'm surprised no attempt has been made to rescue Maerin. I suppose he doesn't matter much to them -- or they've lost heart."

 

"Who knows," Varden murmured.

 

"How is Maerin?"

 

Varden continued to stare into the fire. "Recovering -- slowly."

 

"Good. Perhaps you can become a healer yourself, Varden. You'll need something to occupy your time after tomorrow."

 

"Perhaps."

 

The two sat in silence for some time. Finally, Varden glanced at Ceirn. "The people will want to know about the succession."

 

Ceirn smiled. "I have a consort."

 

Varden frowned.

 

"Dear brother," Ceirn laughed, "don't you know?"

 

"Edrei," Varden said, shaking his head slowly. "I might have known."

 

"She is ideal, Varden. She lusts for power, and wants a throne of her own -- this is the perfect solution."

 

"There is no need for rebellion," Varden said. "The Thanach will breed themselves out of existence."

 

"There will always be a Thanach on the throne of Pralderis, Varden. I've sworn that it will be so. We will grow, and expand. Pralderis will increase galactic trade. We will no longer be in the dark. I have my own visions, you see."

 

Varden rose to his feet. "I see."

 

"Where are you going?"

 

"It's time to dress Maerin's wound."

 

Ceirn scowled. "You've taken a liking to him. That sympathy for the downtrodden can be tiring."

 

Varden twisted his hair back, tucking it into the collar of his robe. "I'm practicing my healing skills, Ceirn -- trying to occupy my time."

 

Ceirn watched Varden leave the room, then turned his attention back to the sea and the approaching storm.

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan sighed, feeling a pleasant warmth on his skin and a gentle hand on his back. He burrowed into the silken pillow, grateful for its softness after the dank stone of his cell.

 

His eyes flew open, and he rolled over, staring warily at the owner of the hand -- the same nondescript man who had entered his cell and violated his innermost consciousness. The man took his hand away, holding it up in a gesture of peace, then smiled genially, folding his arms over his chest.

 

"You're awake, Obi-Wan."

 

Obi-Wan sat up cautiously, aware that this man was strong in the Force and could, if he chose, crush the air from Obi-Wan's chest with no visible effort. He became further aware that there was a metal collar around his neck. A heavy chain was attached to the collar, and secured to the wall beside the bed. Looking down, Obi-Wan saw that he was naked. Though his impulse was to cover himself with his arms, he did not; instead, he looked steadily into the eyes of the man who watched him with such seeming benevolence.

 

"Who are you? What do you want with me?" Obi-Wan demanded.

 

The man only smiled. "I can feel it inside you, Obi-Wan -- that tender, youthful modesty. It's charming, particularly in a Jedi padawan." He allowed his eyes to linger on Obi-Wan's body.

 

Obi-Wan forced himself not to avert his gaze. "Who are you?"

 

The man sighed. "Names, Obi-Wan, reveal so little about an individual. You are Obi-Wan Kenobi, and yet that truly tells me nothing about you. My name would mean little to you. Therefore, I simply ask that you address me as 'Master.'"

 

Obi-Wan gazed coldly at the man. "I have a master," he said. "You are not he."

 

The man began to stroll the length of the room. Obi-Wan watched, unmoving, desperately wishing he were dressed.

 

"Ah," the man said softly. "That's right. Qui-Gon Jinn." Gazing at the floor, the man paced slowly, in silence, his hands clasped behind his back.

 

Obi-Wan grasped the bedclothes tightly. "I want to see him," he said. When the man did not respond, he continued, "I insist upon seeing the regent. We are being held unjustly. I demand --"

 

"My dear boy, you are in no position to demand anything," the man interrupted pleasantly.

 

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. "Very well," he replied icily. "I ask that you release me and my master. I promise that your swift cooperation will be taken into consideration by the Senate."

 

The man smiled in what seemed to be genuine amusement. "Really. Well, your assurance is impressive, Obi-Wan." He crossed the room to a heavy wooden cabinet and removed a small bottle. Walking toward the bed, he held the bottle out to Obi-Wan. "I want you to drink some of this."

 

Obi-Wan stared warily at the bottle, not needing to be told what its contents were. "Why?"

 

"What is it you most want, young Padawan?"

 

Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan thought, but said nothing.

 

"You are a Jedi," the man went on. "You have known little material comfort in your life."

 

"I want for nothing," Obi-Wan said firmly.

 

"Come now, everyone wants something. What is it? Unlimited time to pursue your interests? A new lightsaber? A seat on the Council?" The man's tone was openly teasing, and Obi-Wan set his chin, fixing his gaze upon a corner of the room, refusing to be drawn or taunted.

 

"Or can it be something else?" the man continued. "Is it power? Wealth?"

 

Obi-Wan stared stoically into the distance, allowing the man's voice to soften into a drone.

 

"Pleasure?" The man's voice was soft.

 

Obi-Wan did not betray himself by so much as the flicker of an eyelash, but the man was relentless. "Is that it, young Obi-Wan? Who is it that you want? Some lithe, beautiful padawan, a fresh young boy or girl. No? Do your tastes run to the more exotic? I cannot see you with a Sullustan or a Rodian, I confess. No -- another human, then. Someone older, seasoned by life's experiences."

 

Obi-Wan pretended not to hear, studying the wall opposite him with an air of utter indifference.

 

"Someone like Master Jinn, perhaps. Ah -- that is it. You are not a Jedi yet, boy -- your feelings betray you."

 

"You're welcome to your delusions," Obi-Wan replied coolly.

 

"You would protect him."

 

"Naturally. He is my master." Unbidden, a shiver arose at the memory of the visions the liquid had induced -- Qui-Gon's demise, Obi-Wan helpless to stop it.

 

The man smiled at Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan had the feeling that the man had read his thoughts. The man's next words proved Obi-Wan correct. "The visions don't have to be terrifying, Obi-Wan. Some are quite pleasurable, I assure you." The man smiled, his pale eyes flicking over Obi-Wan's naked body.

 

"I'd prefer to be unencumbered by hallucinogens, if it's all the same to you," Obi-Wan retorted.

 

The man sat on the bed. "Actually, Obi-Wan...it's not all the same to me. Let me propose a bargain. You drink some of this...and I promise not to have your master tortured to death as you watch."

 

"You would not dare," Obi-Wan said. "Your punishment would be swift."

 

The man smiled. "Would you care for a demonstration?" He went to the bell-pull on the other end of the expansive bed -- too far for Obi-Wan to reach, chained as he was -- and yanked upon it. When servants arrived, the man went into the hall, speaking too quietly for Obi-Wan to hear.

 

Obi-Wan took the opportunity to examine the chain fastened to the wall. He might, with time and intense concentration, be able to loosen the chain, but immediate escape was out of the question. He would not allow Qui-Gon to be harmed, but he did not want to consume that liquid. He could neither understand nor bear the horrors the visions showed him. Though some images were not in themselves terrifying, they seemed to hold ghastly implications he was unable to grasp. They terrified by their very formlessness, their ambiguity somehow significant .

 

"Where is it that you're planning to go, young Padawan?"

 

Obi-Wan straightened, sitting back on his heels, grimly determined to ignore his own nakedness. "I will ask you one more time," he said. "Will you release us?"

 

The man smiled and turned at the sound of a scuffle. The door burst open, and Qui-Gon, his wrists manacled, his ankles hobbled, was dragged into the room by several guardsmen.

 

Despite their dire predicament, Obi-Wan felt his heart leap for joy. "Master!"

 

"Obi-Wan --" Qui-Gon stopped struggling long enough to take in Obi-Wan's nakedness. His eyes narrowed. "Obi-Wan -- are you hurt?"

 

"I'm fine, Master. Are you --" Obi-Wan's words were lost as Qui-Gon nearly managed to break his captors' hold. The guards, to a man, fell upon him, kicking and pummeling with abandon. Qui-Gon crumpled to the floor beneath the bruising assault. "Master!" Obi-Wan cried, furiously tugging at the chain that bound him to the wall. "Let him go!"

 

"Enough," the man said softly, and the guards fell back, their eyes blank. Obi-Wan felt a thrill of apprehension. This man was able to manipulate several minds at once; Obi-Wan had never seen such an effortless display of Force abilities.

 

The man strode to the fireplace, removing a standard pole from an iron ring set into the wall and carelessly tossing it to the stone floor. "Bind him here." The guards hastened to obey; Obi-Wan watched, seething with helpless frustration, as a bruised and bleeding Qui-Gon was dragged toward the fireplace and bound, standing, to the iron ring.

 

"Master," Obi-Wan whispered.

 

"It's all right, Padawan," Qui-Gon murmured. He swayed on his feet, remaining upright only because the chains held him so securely.

 

"Leave us," the man said.

 

The guards shuffled from the room. Obi-Wan saw another figure -- the woman, Umak Leth -- pushing through the knot of guards and striding into the room. "Master," Leth said, "what's happening here?"

 

"Obi-Wan's going to drink the theiris for me," the man said pleasantly.

 

"No," Qui-Gon growled, struggling against his bonds. "Obi-Wan, don't."

 

"Master Jinn has some acquaintance with the theiris already," the man went on, his tone genial. "It's unfortunate that you haven't found the visions to be pleasant either, Master Jinn."

 

"Master," Leth said cautiously.

 

"What is it, Umak? You've done your tests. There's nothing truly harmful in the flower, is there?" He walked toward Obi-Wan, holding the bottle. "Drink."

 

"No, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said hoarsely. "Do not drink. That is an order, Padawan."

 

"Master," Leth said, "I must ask what the purpose of this is. Master Jinn is not --"

 

"It is my purpose, Leth," the man said, turning a cool gaze upon her. "And Master Jinn is expendable, is he not? You said it yourself -- anyone strong in the Living Force can sustain the flower. We have no real need for him."

 

"No," Obi-Wan whispered. "You can't --" He forced himself not to flinch as the man lay cool, dry fingers upon his mouth.

 

"Quiet, Obi-Wan."

 

"Umak," Qui-Gon began calmly, "alert the Council to our presence here. For your own peace of mind, I urge you to help us."

 

"Go, Umak," the man said.

 

Leth hesitated visibly. Obi-Wan examined her curiously. She had had a lightsaber, and she had subdued Obi-Wan with a single swift movement. Had she been a Jedi at one time?

 

"Knight Leth," Qui-Gon said, "please --"

 

Leth rested her hand on the saber at her hip. She gave Qui-Gon a long look, then turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

 

Obi-Wan, seeing her go, felt an inexplicable surge of despair.

 

*********

 

The Senator looked vaguely familiar, Qui-Gon thought; he'd seen the man's face somewhere before. If the man was truly a member of one of the Republic systems, however, it must have been a system of meager wealth and power; Qui-Gon could not recall the man's presence at any recent Senate hearing of significant import.

 

Qui-Gon watched in silence as the Senator placed the small bottle in the pocket of his cloak and glided toward him. Weak from hunger, his muscles sore from long stillness, and beset with anxiety for Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon threw on a mask of calm strength that he did not truly feel.

 

"I have heard," the Senator said, clasping his hands behind him as he paced slowly before Qui-Gon, "that intimate relationships between masters and apprentices are frowned upon in the Jedi Order."

 

Qui-Gon looked into Obi-Wan's eyes, conveying as much reassurance as possible. Obi-Wan offered him a brave smile in return.

 

The Senator looked from Qui-Gon to Obi-Wan with an air of innocent curiosity. "Is that true? The theory, so I am told, is that the master who cares too much for his padawan cannot perform the duties necessary to his station. Similarly, a padawan besotted with his master is in peril of allowing his feelings to blind him to the hazards of a dangerous mission. Affection, emotion, love...they bind one," he said, tapping against Qui-Gon's manacles, "more securely than these."

 

"You must free us," Obi-Wan said calmly, "at once." He gave no indication that he had even heard the Senator speaking. Qui-Gon was proud of his padawan's steady courage and tenacity.

 

The Senator scowled and, striding to the fireplace, seized a poker and held it in the flames. Qui-Gon allowed his gaze to wander toward the black metal implement, and he felt a vague dread at the sight of it. He held perfectly still as the Senator walked toward him, poker held upright, its tip glowing a dull red. Obi-Wan started forward despite the chain, but Qui-Gon stilled him with a look. Patience, Padawan, he thought.

 

With one hand, the Senator loosened Qui-Gon's belt. It fell to the floor with a thud. Smiling, the Senator tore at Qui-Gon's sash, leaving his outer tunic gaping. He looked up into Qui-Gon's eyes. "You're not to my taste, Master Jinn. Still..." He shrugged, set the poker back into the fire, and unfastened Qui-Gon's inner tunic, gazing admiringly at Qui-Gon's chest. Suddenly he frowned. "You're rather odiferous, Jedi."

 

"It's been some time since I've had a bath," Qui-Gon replied. "But then you knew that, I'm sure."

 

"No matter," the Senator said. He retrieved the poker and held the glowing tip close to Qui-Gon's unprotected skin. He turned to Obi-Wan and addressed him quietly. "Resistance, young Jedi, holds very meager rewards for you. Shall I show you?"

 

"Leave him alone," Obi-Wan said, his voice ragged.

 

"No," the Senator said. "No, I don't think I will."

 

Qui-Gon saw the anguish in Obi-Wan's eyes. "Obi-Wan -- turn around."

 

"Master --"

 

"Do it," Qui-Gon snapped. "That is an order."

 

"If you do, Obi-Wan," the Senator said, "I will take this and drive it into his eye. Is that what you want?"

 

Obi-Wan's mouth trembled; his eyes were bright with angry, unshed tears. "No."

 

"Will you drink?"

 

"He will not," Qui-Gon murmured.

 

The Senator smiled at him, then touched the tip of the poker to the center of Qui-Gon's chest. Qui-Gon had time to draw one quick breath before molten agony seared his flesh, and could not prevent the cry that escaped him. Unable to support himself, he sagged in the chains, his arms and shoulders aching from the strain of his weight. Through the veil of his pain, he could hear Obi-Wan's voice.

 

"Stop -- leave him alone!"

 

The Senator's voice was soft, reasonable. "Will you drink?"

 

"No," Qui-Gon said, and received a hard blow to the jaw.

 

"I wasn't asking you, Jedi," the Senator said mildly. "I was asking your padawan."

 

"He will not drink," Qui-Gon rasped.

 

The Senator glared, his pale eyes sparking in rage. Slowly and with great deliberation, he pressed the tip of the poker to Qui-Gon's belly. Qui-Gon smelled burning flesh, and moaned in blinding pain.

 

"Is his life so unimportant to you, young Padawan?" the Senator inquired. "Perhaps I was wrong about the nature of your relationship. It seems as though you truly don't love him at all."

 

"Master!"

 

Qui-Gon opened his eyes and managed a smile. Obi-Wan, straining against the chain that held him to the wall, wept, tears streaking his dirty face. "Master -- Master, please --"

 

"It's -- it's all right, Padawan. Don't --" Qui-Gon's last words disappeared in a groan as the poker descended upon his collarbone and stayed, the searing heat sinking into his skin, seeming to penetrate into his bones. He had rarely experienced such intense suffering, and he sagged, semiconscious, in his bonds.

 

"You can end it, Obi-Wan," the Senator said softly, extending the tip of the poker into the fire. "I will stop -- just say the word."

 

"Please --"

 

"That's not the word I want to hear," the Senator chided, pushing the tip of the poker into Qui-Gon's armpit.

 

Another cry he could not prevent escaped Qui-Gon, and he writhed in torment, longing for the release of unconsciousness. It would not come.

 

"Stop -- stop! I'll drink it," Obi-Wan cried.

 

The Senator took the poker from Qui-Gon's burned flesh and turned. "Yes?" he inquired.

 

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, his skin slicked with sweat, his eyes wild. "Don't -- don't hurt him."

 

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon began, but his voice emerged as a thin croak.

 

"Give me the flask," Obi-Wan said, sounding miserable, defeated. "I'll drink."

 

The Senator gave Qui-Gon a long look. "You could not be satisfied with him as an apprentice, Master Jinn," he whispered. "Nor, I think, can I." He leaned down, retrieving Qui-Gon's sash from the floor.

 

With pain-dulled eyes, Qui-Gon watched as the Senator approached the bed. Even through his suffering and exhaustion, Qui-Gon felt a foreboding. "Obi-Wan," he rasped. "No --"

 

The Senator took Obi-Wan's jaw in his hand, brushing a finger over Obi-Wan's mouth, over the reddish scruff of beard that covered Obi-Wan's chin. He grasped Obi-Wan's wrists, pushing him gently to the bed. The Senator bound Obi-Wan's wrists to the bedpost above his head with Qui-Gon's sash, tying the sash in a neat bow. Obi-Wan could have wriggled free, but the point was not to truly secure him, Qui-Gon saw; the point was to humiliate him, to make it clear that Obi-Wan was helpless.

 

Obi-Wan seemed to realize this; his eyes were downcast as he allowed himself to be bound. "My master needs a healer. Please -- those burns --"

 

"Will be fine," the Senator assured him. "And if not --" He shrugged eloquently.

 

Qui-Gon felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. He deliberately wrenched his arms in the chains, sending shooring sparks of agony into his shoulders and wrists. Obi-Wan seemed not to realize what the Senator had planned. "Obi-Wan," he croaked. "Padawan."

 

The Senator uncorked the bottle and held it to Obi-Wan's lips. "Drink, my flower."

 

Obediently, his eyes closed in distress, Obi-Wan drank.

 

"Good." The Senator placed the bottle on a small table and shrugged out of his dark robe. He yanked at the drawstrings of his trousers.

 

"Don't touch him," Qui-Gon spat. "You will not survive if you do."

 

The Senator turned and smiled at Qui-Gon, then turned back to Obi-Wan, who shook his head slightly. "No," Obi-Wan said in a half-whisper. "No."

 

"Oh yes, my flower," the Senator said. "Yes."

 

Obi-Wan cast a sudden, desperate glance at Qui-Gon, then began to struggle as the Senator climbed atop the bed and knelt between Obi-Wan's legs, spreading them widely.

 

"No!" Obi-Wan lunged for freedom, but was brought up short as the Force shimmered, trapping him, holding every part of his body immobile.

 

"Padawan!" Qui-Gon roared, then felt his own body freeze, held still by the Force. He groaned in torment as the Senator ran his hands over Obi-Wan's body, prodding, pinching, exploring with no gentleness whatsoever. Obi-Wan visibly strained against the bonds of the Force that held him still and silent, his eyes wide with pain and apprehension.

 

The Senator moved, cutting off Qui-Gon's view of his padawan's face. Qui-Gon saw the Senator's back as he knelt between Obi-Wan's legs. As Qui-Gon watched, the Senator lifted Obi-Wan by the hips and plunged in, forcing a strangled cry from an unprepared Obi-Wan. He held Obi-Wan by the hips, waiting in silence.

 

Qui-Gon saw Obi-Wan's body begin to tremble.

 

"Tell me what you see, my flower," the Senator said softly.

 

Qui-Gon heard a low moan.

 

"Show me...yes. Show me."

 

"No --"

 

"What is it, my flower?"

 

"Master..."

 

Qui-Gon, unable to help himself, wept at the fear in Obi-Wan's voice, two tears streaking down his face.

 

The Senator began to move obscenely. Qui-Gon only saw Obi-Wan's legs as the Senator lifted Obi-Wan halfway from the bed.

 

"Master!"

 

"Obi-Wan! I'm here, Padawan," Qui-Gon cried, his heart breaking.

 

"Master, please --" Obi-Wan fell abruptly silent, and then, as the Senator moved faster, grunting in savage pleasure, began to scream.

 

**********

 

Maerin disguised a fit of coughing as Varden entered the cell, surreptitiously wiping his hand on his trousers before Varden settled the torch into the wall.

 

"Let me look at the wound," Varden said.

 

"I already looked at it," Maerin replied. "Stop fussing over me."

 

Varden sank to his knees. "You've got to eat," he said gently. "You've got to keep your strength up."

 

"I will," Maerin promised.

 

They stared at one another in silence for a time.

 

"The coronation is tomorrow," Varden said at last.

 

"Kell Stone," Maerin said, trying to ignore the persistent pain in his chest. "Varden --"

 

"I'm ready," Varden said harshly. "I wanted to tell you -- I'm going to the mainland now. Toran's waiting, and the others --" He let out a bark of laughter. "I can scarcely believe all this is happening."

 

"It's time," Maerin said quietly. "Past time." He coughed, and felt Varden's arms slip around him, holding his upper body firmly. "I'm all right," he gasped. "Varden -- Varden, listen to me. I don't think --"

 

"Quiet. I have to go."

 

Maerin felt exhausted. He closed his eyes. "What of the Jedi?"

 

"I don't know if I can save them. After the coronation -- then I'll know. There are other complications, Maerin. Ceirn wants to take Edrei as consort."

 

"No surprise there," Maerin muttered. "Sorry, Varden -- tomorrow."

 

"I don't know if I have the courage to do this," Varden sighed.

 

"You know you do. I know you do -- and you should always listen to me."

 

"Why's that?" Varden smiled. His eyes shone with moisture.

 

"I'm smarter than you are. You'd better get going."

 

Varden pressed his lips to Maerin's forehead. "You're cold -- sweating," he said, frowning.

 

"Too many blankets," Maerin grumbled. "Go on."

 

Varden rose to his feet. "You'll be here when I return?"

 

"Where would I go? Besides, Fian --" He stopped. Fian -- Fian was dead. He lay back on the bedroll, sighing. "I'll be here," he promised. "Varden."

 

"Yes?"

 

"Neither collar nor crown," Maerin said in the old language.

 

"Neither collar nor crown," Varden repeated. He stared at Maerin for a long time, then slipped out the door, closing it behind him.

 

"Go in the light," Maerin whispered. Slowly, he pulled his shirt up and examined the wound by the flickering torchlight. He sighed, and covered it again, closing his eyes and slipping into an uneasy sleep.

 

He dreamt of Fian.

 

**********

 

Adi Gallia sat before her window, an untouched cup of tea cradled in her hands. She looked without seeing onto the sixtieth-level palm garden. Usually she found both strength and serenity in the view -- infinitely preferable to the view of traffic, to her mind -- but this morning, serenity would not come. Her thoughts were in turmoil, centered upon her grieving padawan.

 

The door chime pinged softly.

 

"Come."

 

The door slid open, and Mace Windu entered, looking exhausted and upset. "Adi."

 

"Sit down, Mace. Tea?"

 

"No." Mace sat, regarding her thoughtfully.

 

Adi set her own cooling cup upon the table and curled her feet under her. "What brings you by so early? You look as though you haven't slept."

 

Mace managed a rather grudging smile. "I might say the same for you."

 

"Well, you'd be right."

 

"Garen?"

 

Adi nodded. "He needs time, Mace. Some part of him is unwilling to let Obi-Wan go."

 

Mace stared out the window. At length he spoke quietly. "We've received the remains from Pralderis."

 

"I see," Adi replied. "I would like to have Obi-Wan's lightsaber, Mace. It seems harsh to present it to Garen at this juncture, but it may provide some...resolution, if you will."

 

"I can't do that, Adi. The lightsabers were not returned to us."

 

Adi picked up her cup of tea and sipped at it, grimacing at its temperature. "That is unfortunate."

 

"There is more."

 

Adi glanced at Mace incuriously. "What?"

 

"The remains that were returned were not those of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan."

 

Adi stared at Mace for several moments. "Not their remains."

 

Mace merely nodded.

 

Setting her teacup on the table once again, Adi rose to her feet, pulling her wrapper more firmly about herself. She walked to the window, gazing out onto the garden. "Mace...what else?"

 

"That is all. There is a formal expression of sorrow enclosed with the remains, and that -- that is all."

 

"The funeral was to be held today."

 

"There will be no funeral," Mace said.

 

Adi turned, her arms folded, her lips compressed. "Who can you spare?"

 

Mace snorted. "Who? No one, Master Gallia, at the moment."

 

She nodded, her expression pensive. "Well. Well then, Master Windu, I will have to miss the next session of the Council, I'm afraid."

 

Mace stared levelly. "This is unofficial. The Senate is unaware of our presence on Pralderis."

 

"I know that, Mace," she snapped, irritated. "I was at that session."

 

"Sorry," Mace placated her, holding up a hand. "Will you take Garen?"

 

"Naturally," she said.

 

"I was hoping you'd say that. I've arranged for a Sellerian Y-Class to be waiting at docking bay ninety-three. I thought that would be preferable to public travel -- especially as you might run into trouble."

 

"Good thinking," Adi said. "Just what Garen needs."

 

"And Tahl."

 

Adi stood still. "Mace --"

 

"She should go with you."

 

"She'll be a --" Adi paused. "Forgive me, Mace. Tahl's my friend. But she'll be a hindrance on this mission."

 

Mace shook his head reprovingly. "I'm surprised at you, Adi. She deserves the opportunity to help."

 

"This isn't a mission that requires Temple research, if you'll forgive me," Adi said. "This is a rescue mission. If we're successful, she can celebrate when Qui-Gon returns. If not..." She shrugged. "Then her routine will be uninterrupted."

 

"That's rather cold of you."

 

"Not cold," Adi said. "Pragmatic."

 

Mace shook his head, "Adi..."

 

"All right," Adi sighed. "This is a bad idea, Mace. Tell her to meet us at ninety-three in an hour. She'll have to stay with the ship."

 

"I won't tell her you think it's a bad idea."

 

"I'll tell her myself."

 

"Think how Garen would feel were he not allowed to go," Mace said quietly. "She loves Qui-Gon, Adi."

 

"Very well. I still say it's a bad idea. Go on, Mace. Go. I've got to get in touch with Garen."

 

Mace rose to his feet. "May the Force be with you, Master Gallia."

 

Adi tilted a half-grin at Mace, her first in days. "Let's hope so."

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon watched in horror, rage, and anguish, struggling fruitlessly against his bonds as the Senator violated Obi-Wan, whose screams had become low, agonized moans. Never before had rage so violently consumed him, and if he could have, he would have torn out the Senator's throat with nary a qualm. When it became apparent that the chains would not give, Qui-Gon wept in frustration and anger, his eyes fixed upon the obscenity before him.

 

After what seemed an eternity, the Senator arose and fastened his trousers. He gazed for a long time at Obi-Wan, who lay quietly upon the bed, his body limp, his eyes closed. He ran a fingertip down Obi-Wan's jaw, flicking at his chin. "Thank you, young Obi-Wan. Soon, your body will yield as easily as your mind." He smiled as Obi-Wan averted his head. Qui-Gon saw a shining tear escape Obi-Wan's eyelashes and slide down his cheek.

 

The Senator walked over to Qui-Gon and studied him. "The Jedi are right. Your love for him makes you unreliable."

 

"I will kill you," Qui-Gon rasped.

 

"Exactly what I mean. How quickly your savage human emotions surface when one you love is at risk." The Senator smiled. "I am taking Obi-Wan away with me, Master Jinn. I advise you to say good-bye to him," he added, pausing delicately, "in whatever fashion you wish."

 

"You will not take him anywhere."

 

"I won't go, Master," Obi-Wan said faintly. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, willing the tears not to fall, then opened them to see Obi-Wan looking at him, and smiling as if in reassurance. Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon thought, Obi-Wan...

 

The Senator smiled again in contempt. "Jedi -- you're not even an interesting challenge. When another source of sustenance is found for the theiris, you will die, Master Jinn. Or Umak will synthesize the theiris -- in any event, you aren't long for this life."

 

"You'll be discovered," Obi-Wan said. "The Jedi will investigate our disappearance."

 

"By the time that happens, my flower, you and I will be long gone," the Senator said. He seized Qui-Gon's tunic, jerking him forward. Qui-Gon's arms and shoulders screamed in protest, but no sound escaped his lips. "I can send this one's rotting corpse to your Order. They can roast him like meat on a spit." He turned and strode to the door, barking orders at the guards who stood outside. Distantly, Qui-Gon wondered where the Royal Family was. Were they not at all concerned that two Jedi were being held captive and tortured?

 

The guards came in and freed Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan of their chains. They were blindfolded, their hands tied behind them, and roughly pushed down endless corridors, deep beneath the ground -- back into the dungeons, Qui-Gon surmised. Obi-Wan made no protestation as he was brutally shoved through the halls, but Qui-Gon was able to discern his padawan's suffering and exhaustion.

 

Qui-Gon's bonds were loosened, and he was shoved into a dank cell, landing heavily on the floor. He heard Obi-Wan pushed in as well, falling to his knees with a grunt of pain and surprise.

 

Qui-Gon tore off his blindfold and blinked in the dim light of the cell. He was distressed to see that Obi-Wan hadn't done the same; instead, his padawan lay curled on the floor, unmoving.

 

"Obi-Wan --" Qui-Gon eased Obi-Wan from the floor, propping him against the wall. He untied Obi-Wan's blindfold, then stripped off his outer tunic, wincing as his seared flesh was abraded, and wrapped the tunic around Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan offered no resistance, nor did he try to assist Qui-Gon; he simply stared, docile and motionless.

 

Qui-Gon felt panic trickling through his blood. "Padawan," he whispered. "Padawan, can you hear me?"

 

Obi-Wan nodded, closing his eyes. "Yes, Master," he said, his voice like a sigh. "I can hear you." Two tears slipped from beneath his eyelids, and he opened his eyes. "Master -- are your injuries...are they --"

 

Qui-Gon gathered Obi-Wan into his arms. "Obi-Wan," he murmured, his own tears wetting Obi-Wan's skin. "Obi-Wan."

 

**********

 

Ceirn stared into the mirror, smoothing the folds of his kilt. He was splendid in his warrior's paint and regalia; his adornments were ancient jewels, the results of centuries of plunder. His hair hung to his shoulders, weighted with dazzling stones. The fabric of his shirt and kilt were finely woven, the most sumptuous material Pralderis produced. Obi-Wan's lightsaber hung at his belt.

 

He turned to look at Edrei. She wore a richly brocaded dress embroidered with jewels, her hair was an elaborate design of woven braids, ribbons, and gems, and her eyes bore a strange glittering light.

 

"You've been at it again," Ceirn remarked, turning back to the mirror. "Your friends won't let you near the Jedi, though, will they?"

 

"I would have thought that you'd be concerned about that," Edrei said. "Your palace, your keep."

 

Ceirn smiled indulgently at her in the mirror. "The whims of an addict concern me not at all, my girl," he said. "And besides, I've been busy. After tomorrow, I'll send the Senator and his friend -- that ice-cold stick of a woman -- away. You can forget about raising an army against me, love," he said quietly. "I knew all the while."

 

She shook her head. "Ceirn --"

 

"Please, 'drei," Ceirn said, raising a forestalling hand. "I knew. I knew all the times you'd lie beside me at night with your hand grasping the dirk beneath your pillow, wondering whether you had the nerve to plunge it into my chest. I could have killed you or have you killed, 'drei, but I love you too much."

 

"I don't believe you," she said listlessly.

 

"I do, though. If not, you'd be dead by now. 'drei, I'm going to give you what you want -- Qui-Gon, the theiris -- and half the throne."

 

She rose to her feet. "Half the --"

 

"That's right. And the Thanach will thrive."

 

"Your consort, you mean."

 

"You'll have the power you want." Within reason, he thought. And until you beget a daughter, 'drei. After that -- Ceirn left the thought unfinished. He turned and walked toward her, grasping her hands. "Tonight at Kell Stone, 'drei, we'll be joined." He watched as her eyes cleared, sharpened, and fastened upon him, wary, hungry, and calculating. He kissed her hands. "Tonight, love."

 

Edrei smiled, a smile of melting sweetness and infinite treachery. He smiled in return, wanting to laugh.

 

"Ceirn," she said. "I could not have hoped for more."

 

Ceirn bent and kissed her throat. "Leave me for a while," he said. "I'll join you later." He watched as she drifted from the room, giving him a smile over one shoulder.

 

He looked at himself again in the mirror. His hand drifted down to Obi-Wan's saber blade. He had been preoccupied with his ascendancy, he knew, and it had been too long since he'd attended to his guests -- particularly Obi-Wan, he thought. There was some time before the ceremony -- he suddenly felt like whetting his appetites.

 

He started down the corridor that led to the dungeons.

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan pulled himself into a tight ball, hiding his face in his master's tunic. He hadn't wanted to weep, but he was tired and he hurt, and the shame of Qui-Gon witnessing his violation was suddenly too much to bear. He wept silently, one hand curled around a long lock of Qui-Gon's hair.

 

Qui-Gon held him, firmly, but with tenderness, his hand stroking Obi-Wan's back. He did not speak, and Obi-Wan was grateful for that. He could not have responded to questions, no matter how gentle. He shivered in the dampness of the cell, hating his nakedness, hating the pain and discomfort from the physical violation, and hating the feeling that everything he'd ever felt, seen, or known had been laid bare for his tormentor to see.

 

And the images he'd been forced to see, in his mind's eye, were horrific -- images of wanton destruction, of slaughtered innocents and tortured Jedi, of the Council Chamber in ruins, of legions of armored soldiers, marching into battle -- and his tormentor's cold, triumphant glee, and a certainty that all he'd witnessed would come to pass.

 

There was more, too -- a threat rising from within, an individual that would descend upon the galaxy to tear out its strength, a ravening predator who would singlehandedly annihilate all that the Jedi held dear, and behind that, the creeping knowledge that he, Obi-Wan, would be in some way responsible for it. That could not be, Obi-Wan knew, but the idea was unbearable, and he shrank from the images like a child. He could not stop his tears and huddled against Qui-Gon, who held him despite his own pain.

 

Exhausted, he slept, and awoke some time later still cradled in Qui-Gon's arms.

 

"Master," he said. "I'm sorry -- those burns --"

 

"Cauterized," Qui-Gon said grimly. "They'll be all right, Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan could not look at Qui-Gon. "I am so sorry, Master. I should have drunk the liquid at once. You wouldn't be wounded now."

 

Qui-Gon kissed Obi-Wan's cheek. "My padawan, your courage is boundless."

 

"If only that were true," Obi-Wan murmured. "I wish you hadn't...hadn't seen that." He felt Qui-Gon sigh, and the press of Qui-Gon's cheek against his own.

 

"Padawan," Qui-Gon said, "I would have done anything to --"

 

"Master -- it's all right. Truly it is. I've endured worse pain. It was just...humiliating." It had been excruciating -- not physically, though he was sore and bruised -- but the shame of his helplessness, of Qui-Gon's own powerlessness, his presence at Obi-Wan's degradation, and his captor's delight in the visions and his arousal had been terrible. "It would have been worse, Master, were I unable to take solace in your presence. He was kinder than he intended to be, I'm sure."

 

"Obi-Wan...I am so sorry," Qui-Gon said, his voice muffled.

 

"Master...I love you. That is all I need to heal, I swear it."

 

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon choked out, "Padawan, I --" The rest of his words were swallowed in a muted sob, and Obi-Wan found himself consoling Qui-Gon, murmuring soothing words to him.

 

They sat in silence for a time.

 

"Master," Obi-Wan said. "What he said about masters and padawans --"

 

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said gently, "do you think I would have felt less anxiety for you before we became lovers? You are my beloved pupil, and will be until you are knighted. Anyone who thinks that I would compromise your safety is less than a fool."

 

Obi-Wan nodded. Though he was confident in Qui-Gon's regard, it was nonetheless reassuring to hear Qui-Gon say those words to him. He nestled more closely against Qui-Gon.

 

"Are you cold, Padawan?" Qui-Gon asked, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan more tightly.

 

"It's not bad, Master," Obi-Wan assured him, his heart twisting in anguish. How those burns must pain his master, Obi-Wan thought, but he made no complaint.

 

"I wish I had my robe."

 

Obi-Wan smiled tiredly. "Your tunic's a bit large, but that's an advantage now."

 

Qui-Gon stroked Obi-Wan's hair. "Obi-Wan...if you want to tell me anything..."

 

Sighing, Obi-Wan rested his forehead against Qui-Gon's shoulder. "Not now, Master."

 

"When you're ready."

 

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said gratefully. He could not even begin to describe what it had been like to have every memory bared before a stranger, his most intimate thoughts and feelings exposed and vulnerable. "When we're free of this place, Master." It was both hope and promise, that statement, and Obi-Wan drew a deep breath, resolving that they would escape.

 

Qui-Gon kissed Obi-Wan softly, but fervently. "When we're free, Padawan," he said. "Sleep now, love. Gather your strength. I think we'll both have need of it soon."

 

Obi-Wan nodded, drifting into a sleep blessedly free of dreams.

 

**********

 

Umak barely glanced up as the girl strode into the room without invitation.

 

"I must speak to you at once, Senator," the girl said.

 

"I'm busy, my dear," the Senator said, brushing his hand in a gesture of dismissal. He examined the counterplate that Umak handed him. "How long until you are able to synthesize this?"

 

"I can't do it here," Umak said. "The working conditions are primitive, at best. I need my laboratory."

 

"I'll see that you have transportation. I intend to stay for some time. Jinn is strong, and Obi-Wan and I need time to...integrate, if you will."

 

Umak opened her mouth to speak, feeling an unexpected tremor of apprehension. "Master --"

 

"Now, Senator!" The girl's voice became strident, cutting into the soft conversation. Umak turned and stared patiently at the girl, her lips curved in amused contempt. Stupid child, she thought.

 

The Senator smiled, setting the counterplate down. "Very well, my dear. You're looking lovely. I expect that you're anticipating tonight's festivities."

 

"It all depends on what the event is," Edrei replied.

 

"Oh?"

 

"You were to have arranged for the transport of armaments and mercenaries for me," Edrei said, "in exchange for the theiris. I have nothing -- nothing. And Ceirn is to be crowned tonight."

 

"These things take time, my child," the Senator replied mildly. "I have very little control over certain factors. Revolution is a delicate business."

 

"You're stalling."

 

"What a thing to say. What I promise I will give."

 

"I don't want it."

 

The Senator folded his hands. "Indeed? Why ever not?"

 

"It has become more simple," Edrei said. "You have the Gift. I only ask two things of you now, and our earlier agreement will be terminated."

 

"And what is it that you're proposing?" the Senator asked.

 

"I want to learn to use the Gift as you have."

 

"I can teach you that," the Senator replied. "What else?"

 

Edrei hesitated. "Ceirn," she said. "Ceirn intends to make me his consort."

 

"That's not agreeable to you, I take it."

 

Edrei smiled. "In some ways. Not in others. I'll not be subservient to him until I'm a crone, Senator. I...I cannot do this myself. Tonight, at the coronation...you must be there. What you did to me," she touched her throat, "you can do to him. It will look like an accident. And then -- then there will be no dispute. The crown will fall to me. I will be sovereign."

 

Umak tilted her head and stared at the treacherous child before her.

 

"You want me to kill your brother," the Senator said thoughtfully.

 

Edrei colored. "I can't do it."

 

"You seemed to have no compunction about killing your other brother."

 

"That was unintentional."

 

"What a fine ruler you will make," Umak said softly.

 

The girl would not look at her. "Will you do it?" she asked the Senator.

 

The Senator appeared lost in contemplation. He sat in silence for a few moments.

 

"Senator." The girl's voice was brittle, on the edge of hysteria.

 

"Yes, your Highness," the Senator replied. "I will do this for you."

 

The girl sighed, visibly relieved. "Then our bargain will be complete." She walked to the door.

 

"My dear," the Senator called, "are you prepared to accept all that sovereignty entails?"

 

Edrei turned and smiled. "I just have."

 

Umak watched as the door closed behind the girl. "She is dangerous."

 

"To whom?"

 

Umak met the Senator's eyes. "She is dangerous, my Lord."

 

The Senator smiled gently. "Rest assured, Umak, that she is a danger only to herself. And soon..." He shrugged. "Soon that won't be a concern."

 

Umak hesitated, then bent once again to her task, cloaking her apprehension.

 

"I'll have need of you tonight, Leth."

 

"Yes, my Lord."

 

 

**********

 

Umak's face betrayed no emotion as she watched the guards bind Qui-Gon and drag him out of the cell to Obi-Wan's furious protests. Standing against the wall of the cell, she remained silent as the guards chained Obi-Wan to the wall. Obi-Wan snarled at them, fighting, pulling at his chains, but they merely laughed at him, one or two of them groping him roughly.

 

"That's enough," she snapped. "Leave the boy alone, and get out." She bit back a coldly amused smile as the guards, to a man, muttered imprecations at her beneath their breaths, but slunk out of the cell with postures hunched in defeat.

 

She waited until the guards had left to approach Obi-Wan, who sat upon the stone floor, inadequately covered by Qui-Gon's tunic. "Padawan Kenobi."

 

Obi-Wan met her eyes. "Knight Leth," he replied, no trace of fear in his eyes.

 

"Mistress Leth, if you please, or simply Umak if you don't. I'm no longer a Jedi. Didn't your master tell you that?"

 

"He did," was Obi-Wan's reply.

 

Umak smiled. "You've strength and courage to spare, young padawan. I would save it, were I you -- you're going to need it."

 

"Yes," Obi-Wan said quietly. "You'll no doubt have a hand in that."

 

"I'm merely here to observe."

 

"You are standing by and allowing evil to take place," Obi-Wan said, his eyes filling with some indecipherable emotion. "Master Qui-Gon told me about you. You were an asset to the Jedi, a brilliant --"

 

"Please," Umak sighed. "Don't ply me with heart-rending appeals to my conscience, Obi-Wan. I haven't the time or patience."

 

"I cannot believe that you are entirely lost," Obi-Wan said, a quiet confidence in his voice as though he were not sitting half-naked on a cell floor and chained to the wall "Surely there must be some good in you still."

 

Umak stared at him for some time. "You poor, ignorant child," she said softly. "After all you've gone through, you still believe that."

 

"I must believe it," Obi-Wan said. "I cannot believe otherwise."

 

"Obi-Wan -- look at yourself. Tell me you truly think that, child." She turned, striding toward the cell door.

 

"Wait," Obi-Wan called. "Mistress Leth --"

 

Umak turned, one hand resting on the hilt of the saber at her hip."What is it?"

 

"Master Qui-Gon needs a healer's attention. He's been badly burned."

 

Umak frowned. "How?"

 

"Your employer took it upon himself to torture my master with a hot poker before he --" Obi-Wan swallowed. "Before he raped me." His face was flushed in humiliation; nevertheless, he looked steadily at Umak.

 

"I told Qui-Gon there would be suffering. He keeps the theiris alive, Obi-Wan. That is all."

 

"He wouldn't tell me what else you'd done to him," Obi-Wan said raggedly. "I heard him screaming --"

 

"He was given the theiris," Umak said, "as you were. He is resistant. Soon my master will travel the pathways of Qui-Gon's mind as he traveled yours."

 

"Against his will," Obi-Wan whispered. "What a master you serve."

 

Umak shrugged, her face unreadable.

 

"Please, Mistress Leth," Obi-Wan said, "if you cannot help me, help Qui-Gon. You torture him needlessly."

 

"You're a fool, child, betraying your emotions so easily."

 

A harsh noise between a sigh and a sob escaped Obi-Wan, and he pulled on his chains to no avail.

 

"Be still, Padawan. I will tell you what I told Qui-Gon," Umak said. "Resign yourself to your eventual fate. If you are truly a Jedi, you will find peace within yourself."

 

"Your memory of the Order is flawed," Obi-Wan said, "if you believe that a Jedi would resign himself to evil."

 

"Please yourself," Umak replied shortly, and left the cell, slamming the door shut behind her.

 

She passed Ceirn Thanach in the corridor. They ignored one another.

 

**********

 

Adi Gallia sat in the co-pilot's chair of the Sellerian, her arms folded across her chest.

 

"How did Master Windu get hold of one of these?" Garen marveled.

 

"I think it's a consulate ship," Adi replied.

 

Garen glanced at Adi's set face. "Are you all right, Master?"

 

"I'm fine."

 

Tahl spoke up from the rear passenger's seat. "She doesn't want me here."

 

Adi rubbed at her eyes. "Don't start, Tahl."

 

"Why not -- isn't it true? You think I'm a burden, Adi." Her voice was sharp, but not angry.

 

Adi turned in her seat, facing Tahl though Tahl couldn't see her. "Listen to me. You haven't ventured outside the Temple much since you were blinded, Tahl. You won't wear the infrareds --"

 

"I hate them," Tahl said. "That's not seeing."

 

"You've kept up with your combat skills, but you're still at a disadvantage. You have that damned droid around you at all times --"

 

"I didn't bring her this time."

 

"And a good thing," Adi said grimly. "We haven't room for her. Tahl, you should have known better. This is a rescue mission -- suppose Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are injured or unconscious? What aid could you render that would not hinder our efforts? Now I have to protect you as well as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan --"

 

"Master," Garen began.

 

Adi made a gesture of impatience with one hand. "Quiet, Garen, I'm going to say this, and I don't want you to interrupt." She addressed Tahl again. "If you stay with the ship, you'll be in danger. If you leave the ship, you'll be in danger. If you'll forgive me, Tahl, you're not an asset on this mission. I don't know what Mace was thinking when he insisted that you join us."

 

"For Qui-Gon, Master," Garen said softly.

 

Tahl smiled and said nothing.

 

"Force," Adi sighed. "You're not even listening, are you, Tahl?"

 

"You don't mince words, do you, Adi?" Tahl said, her mouth twitching.

 

"Have I ever?" she muttered, turning back in her seat. "I can't even begin to think of formulating a plan. I have no idea what we're in for."

 

Garen smiled, gently patting Adi on the arm. Adi shot him an irritated glance, then her mouth twisted wryly. Garen was optimistic, happier than he'd been in days, and that was something to be grateful for, Adi reflected. Her padawan took solace in action; Adi had been exceedingly cautious when relaying the news of the rescue mission to a jubilant Garen.

 

"We may not find them," Adi had said. "Or we might find them and still be too late."

 

"I just want to know that I've done something about it," Garen had replied. "I can't stand by and not act, Master."

 

Adi returned Garen's smile grudgingly. "How much longer?"

 

Garen nodded at the chronometer. "Not long. They were to have stayed at a place called Thanach Hold -- it's an island not far from the northern-most continent. Looks pretty desolate to me."

 

"Do we need cold-weather gear?"

 

"No, we should be fine," Garen replied. "It's summer there." At Adi's sigh, Garen flashed her an anxious look. "Master?"

 

"I don't like this."

 

"Adi --" Tahl began.

 

"It's nothing to do with you, Tahl," Adi said, more warmth in her voice, "for all that you are a burr on my backside."

 

"Thanks," Tahl said wryly. "Then what is it? Do you sense something amiss?"

 

Adi closed her eyes and sat back, stretching out into the Force for long moments. Usually manifesting itself as a brilliant swirl of purples and blues and sweet melody, the Force now appeared to her as deep greys and atonal noise. She had the sudden certainty that they should never have undertaken this mission. "Everything will change," she whispered.

 

"Master? What do you mean?"

 

Adi opened her eyes. "I don't know." She frowned, trying to grasp the elusive threads of the Force that drifted away from her, gossamer as spiders' silk. Something was wrong, but what it was she could not tell.

 

She looked out into the void of space, her brow clouded.

 

"I don't know," she repeated.

 

***********

 

Qui-Gon, his head aching from a vicious blow he'd received from the end of a blaster, barely registered that the guards had once again chained him to the wall. Dazed and rapidly weakening, he leaned his head against the stone wall, wincing at the pain from the burns on his body. He was dimly grateful that the guards had abandoned him after some indifferent kicks and cuffs.

 

He feared for Obi-Wan. The Senator intended to abduct Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon was determined that should not happen, but in his current predicament, he was utterly helpless. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his racing thoughts enough to plot some sort of escape attempt.

 

He succeeded in calming his thoughts enough to focus on soothing the pain in his head. It was quite bad; Qui-Gon suspected that he had a concussion. His vision was watery and he had a difficult time holding on to consciousness.

 

"Qui-Gon."

 

The voice was not Obi-Wan's; he did not wish to pay attention.

 

"Qui-Gon."

 

His head ached very badly, and he was unable to block the voice.

 

"Master Jinn!"

 

He focused bleary eyes upon a grim-looking Umak Leth. "You could at least acknowledge my presence," she said, not meeting his eyes as she prepared a hypospray.

 

"You've been so kind to me -- forgive my discourtesy," Qui-Gon replied.

 

Umak's mouth tightened. "That will do, Qui-Gon. I'm not in the mood for your sarcasm."

 

Qui-Gon eyed the hypospray in her hands. "More drugs," he said, his voice thick and sleepy-sounding to his own ears. "Are you getting the reactions you seek from me, Umak? And from Obi-Wan?Are the interests of science truly being served?"

 

Umak didn't reply.

 

"You serve evil, Umak. To think I once respected you."

 

Umak's hand shot out, and Qui-Gon gasped as she wrapped strong fingers around his throat. "Be silent, Qui-Gon, or I'll kill you myself."

 

"You might be doing me a favor," Qui-Gon whispered.

 

Umak glared at him, then released his throat. "I cannot expect you to understand."

 

"I understand that you've allowed your curiosity to overcome your compassion, Umak. You weren't like this before."

 

"I've always been like this," Umak said. "It's your misfortune that you -- and the Council, especially the Council -- were unable to discern that before. So much heartache might have been spared on both sides of our conflict."

 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. "Who is the Senator?"

 

"Someone you should fear."

 

"I see."

 

"I doubt it," Umak replied. "He is angry that you are resistant, Qui-Gon. He will invade your mind -- as he invaded your padawan's mind. Is that what you want?"

 

Qui-Gon opened his eyes, focusing on her as best he could. "Umak -- you must help us. Whoever he is, you can leave him. Whatever binds you to him can be broken. You know this is true."

 

Umak shook her head. "Qui-Gon -- stop. You don't understand -- you will never understand what he's given me." She glanced over her shoulder. "He's coming." She rose and placed the hypospray on a table.

 

"Knight Leth," Qui-Gon said softly, "I am sorry for you."

 

Umak looked down at him, folding her arms, her face hardening, transforming into something alien and frighteningly cold. "Master Jinn," she replied, "your compassion is badly misplaced."

 

"Are we ready, Umak?" The Senator's voice was soft, pleasant.

 

"We are, my Lord," Umak replied, turning and bowing slightly. "The hypospray is there."

 

"Good." The Senator picked up the hypospray, turning it over in his hands. He glanced at Umak, who strode toward the door. "Not staying, Umak?"

 

"The implant will record his reactions," Umak replied, standing very still, facing the door. "I have notes to transcribe."

 

"You do have a conscience, Umak," Qui-Gon said.

 

Umak left without another word.

 

Qui-Gon stared evenly at the Senator, masking his exhaustion and weakness, staring without expression as the Senator smiled benignly. He heard a faint, resonant hum that grew gradually louder, and a movement in the door caught his attention. He saw the source of the noise -- a hovering, spherical droid, shining black with tiny blinking lights on its surface. Qui-Gon, despite himself, felt a pang of foreboding.

 

The Senator knelt between Qui-Gon's bound legs and with a single swift gesture, tore open Qui-Gon's tunic. He examined the burns on Qui-Gon's chest dispassionately. "Did you get an opportunity to say good-bye to your padawan, Master Jinn?" he asked in a friendly tone.

 

Qui-Gon remained silent.

 

The Senator glanced up at him, then raked a fingernail across Qui-Gon's burned skin, smiling as Qui-Gon arched in shock and pain. "I asked you a question, Jedi."

 

Qui-Gon was dizzy from the sudden movement. Afraid that he was going to be sick -- though in truth offending the Senator would be a pleasure -- he closed his eyes, willing himself to calm.

 

"Not planning to speak?"

 

Qui-Gon kept his eyes closed, not flinching at a hard blow across his cheek.

 

"Fool," The man's voice dripped venom. "Before I delve into your mind, Jedi, I will break your body -- first for my own pleasure and then I will force your apprentice to witness your suffering. Did you watch as I took him?"

 

Qui-Gon kept silent and still with the most extraordinary effort.

 

"Of course you did. I can't decide which was more delightful -- raping that sweet body or raping that sweet mind. I'll have to sample both again. Perhaps you can help me decide by watching again."

 

Qui-Gon opened his eyes and stared.

 

"You're angry, Jedi. Good. Good." He backed away from Qui-Gon and withdrew a small black object from his robe. He held the object within his hand, and the droid floated silently toward Qui-Gon. A panel on the droid opened, and a small mechanical arm extended from the droid's round body. At the end of the arm was a prong with dual tines, each shaped very like a bird's beak. Small blue currents sizzled from one pointed end to the other.

 

"What do you want?" Qui-Gon managed.

 

The Senator met Qui-Gon's eyes. "Anguish."

 

In a very short time, Qui-Gon fulfilled the Senator's desires.

 

**********

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan watched in silence as the door swung open again. It's not easy being so popular, he thought mordantly as Ceirn stepped into the cell, torch held aloft.

 

"What happened to your clothes, Obi-Wan?"

 

"They were taken from me," Obi-Wan said. "Do you suppose you could get them back for me, your Highness?"

 

Ceirn regarded him with quickening interest. "No, I don't think I could. Obi-Wan," Ceirn said softly, placing the torch in its sconce and sinking to his knees. "I'm to be crowned tonight."

 

"Congratulations," Obi-Wan replied curtly, scowling in anger at the sight of his own lightsaber dangling from Ceirn's belt. "That's my lightsaber."

 

"I know. It's quite a prize. I'm going to have the other one dismantled so that we can reproduce it."

 

Obi-Wan bristled at the dismissive reference to Qui-Gon. "You haven't been trained in their use."

 

Ceirn shrugged. "Then you can train me."

 

"I think not."

 

Ceirn smiled, leaning close to Obi-Wan. "I'd like you to be present at my coronation. I doubt I'd be able to have you there unrestrained, though."

 

"That wouldn't gain you the favor of the people," Obi-Wan said. "Where is Maerin Thanach?"

 

"Maerin? He's here. Varden's been healing him. Always the compassionate one, my brother."

 

"He is more fit to be sovereign than you are, Highness."

 

Ceirn laughed. "He doesn't know the first thing about ruling a planet, nor will he ever. He's a dullard -- no imagination." He leaned closer to Obi-Wan, nuzzling his neck. "You're warm here," he murmured. His hand darted between Obi-Wan's legs, fondling, sliding over Obi-Wan's thighs. "You're --" He pulled back, examining his hand, his expression revolted. "What in --"

 

Obi-Wan felt a surge of shame, though he knew he had no cause to feel so. He lifted his chin and said nothing.

 

Ceirn wiped his hand on the floor in disgust. "Someone's used you already, I see. Who was it? Your master? The guards?"

 

"The Senator," Obi-Wan said. "Your guest."

 

"Edrei's guest," Ceirn said quietly. "Did she put him up to that?"

 

"No," Obi-Wan replied, wanting to shut his eyes against the memory of horror -- too recent to be easily suppressed.

 

Ceirn sat back on his heels. "How dare he," he said thoughtfully.

 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, then opened them, looking at Ceirn. "For your own sake, Highness -- release us, and help us stop him. He is dangerous. He plans to --"

 

"Dangerous? Obi-Wan, he's an addict, a dreamer like my sister. Addicts don't do anything -- they're useless, I assure you."

 

"You're wrong," Obi-Wan said. He hesitated, then gave Ceirn a nudge, using the Force. "You must help us."

 

Ceirn frowned. "You're trying to influence me."

 

"No," Obi-Wan lied easily. He pushed again. "Free us, Ceirn. You must free us."

 

Ceirn reached out toward Obi-Wan's chains, then stopped, furious. "You --" He dug his fingers into Obi-Wan's lower jaw. "Take care, Obi-Wan. The Senator was right -- you are treacherous." He rose to his feet, backing out of the cell. "I'm calling the guards. They'll clean you and...gag you. I won't be denied, Obi-Wan -- I --" He broke off at the sound of a scream.

 

Obi-Wan struggled against his chains. "Master," he gasped. "Master --"

 

Ceirn looked appalled. "What in the name of --"

 

"You have no control over your own household, Highness," Obi-Wan choked. "You would allow an innocent man to be tortured --"

 

"Who's torturing him?" Ceirn demanded.

 

"Are you blind?" Obi-Wan cried. "Don't you see what that man is doing?"

 

Ceirn stared. "The Senator?"

 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes at another scream. "Yes. Stop him -- you've got to help us." He focused every last bit of strength he had on Ceirn. "Cut through the chains." Ceirn's eyes clouded, and Obi-Wan felt a surge of triumph. "Go on," he urged Ceirn. "Take the saber -- turn it on."

 

Ceirn withdrew the saber from his belt and ignited it.

 

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, keeping his voice calm and soothing. "That's it. Now -- cut through the chains. Do it, Ceirn." He held his breath, fearing Ceirn's aim, but Ceirn sliced neatly through the chains, freeing Obi-Wan's arms.

 

"Good," Obi-Wan said. "Now give me the saber." He took the saber from Ceirn's outstretched hand and cut through the chains binding his legs to rings in the floor. He rose cautiously. "Sit down, Ceirn." Backing away from Ceirn, who sat limply and docilely upon the floor, he looked out the door, ensuring that the corridor was empty. he shut the door behind himself, wincing at still another scream.

 

The sound seemed to come from everywhere, and Obi-Wan felt lost. He closed his eyes, letting the Force move through him despite his extreme fatigue, and chose a direction.

 

Obi-Wan ran through endless, twisting corridors until he came to a plain wooden door. Cautiously, he placed his hand upon the crude metal handle and pushed the door open, saber ignited and held aloft.

 

The Senator was there, standing next to a droid with long metal appendages touching Qui-Gon's bare skin. Qui-Gon's face was contorted in agony.

 

"My flower," the Senator said. "Welcome."

 

**********

 

Varden rubbed at his eyes, squinting against the thin afternoon sunlight. I've become nightsighted, he thought, living in that gloomy pile of rock.

 

He made his way from the shoreline, his boots dragging in the pebbles. He was exhausted and hungry, beset by anxiety, and never in his life had he felt less able to help bring about revolution.

 

"Varden."

 

Varden jumped; he hadn't seen Toran standing a few meters away, wrapped in a grey cloak, a peculiar expression upon his ruddy features. "Sorry, friend," Varden murmured, grasping Toran's outstretched hand. "Didn't know you were there."

 

"How's Maerin?"

 

"I think he's on the mend. What happened to the damned healer? I sent for one some time ago."

 

"I don't think you can trust your own servants," Toran replied soberly.

 

Varden stood still, a wave of bitterness breaking over him. "Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have just retired to the Southlands and let the Thanach destroy themselves."

 

"Maerin wouldn't have let you," Toran said, his eyes twinkling.

 

"Probably not," Varden agreed tiredly.

 

"The others are eating," Toran went on. "I came out here to look for you. You look famished, friend; we'll go back and eat, but first I want to show you something."

 

Varden nodded, fishing a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. "These are the guardpost locations. They've changed since the little debacle the other night."

 

"Good," Toran said. "Thanks. Come on with me."

 

Varden followed Toran, his feet dragging dejectedly, unable to stop thinking of Maerin. Maerin didn't look at all well, and if he didn't receive proper treatment in a few days --

 

"He'll be all right, Varden," Toran said softly. "Don't fear."

 

"I hate when you do that," Varden grumbled.

 

"Then don't think so loudly," Toran grinned. He put his hand under Varden's elbow and led him up the grassy rise, supporting him when Varden stumbled from fatigue. "You should try to sleep for a while, Varden."

 

"There isn't time. What --" Varden stopped in surprise. On the plateau was a vast, spreading crowd, multitudes of people milling over the wide, grassy land. "To witness the coronation?" Varden murmured. "They won't all fit on the isle."

 

"Not to witness," Toran said. "They're ours."

 

"Ours..." Varden straightened, scanning the crowd. Not possible -- there were so many of them, thousands upon thousands, nearly as far as the eye could see -- and they were all so calm, so serene. Could this be the face of revolution? Not possible....

 

"Yes," Toran said. "Possible. All our cells, Varden, all the work we've done for years -- the tears and suffering and lives lost -- this is the result. It's time."

 

Varden's eyes darted to the small assemblage of Mainland guards that appeared to stand watch over them. The leader, a Thanach, a man he knew slightly, inclined his head with grave courtesy.

 

"So many," Varden whispered.

 

"Together at last."

 

Varden felt some of the fatigue draining from his body. He gripped Toran's arm. "Toran..."

 

"A peaceful revolution, my friend -- or at least as peaceful as it can be. Some will die -- that is the price we pay for freedom. I might die -- you might as well. But the Thanach hold will be broken at last."

 

Tears filled Varden's eyes. "At last," he whispered. "Neither collar nor crown."

 

**********

 

Edrei sat with her back against a wall, contemplating the jeweled corona of Pralderis, only removed for coronation. She'd been allowed to try it on once before as a small girl; her mother had become impatient and had removed the heavy crown from her head. Edrei had been furious.

 

She reached out and touched a jewel, blazing with green fire. Like Qui-Gon's light sword, she thought with a smile. She would see Qui-Gon soon -- after the coronation, after she was sovereign, after she had disposed of the Senator. She needed his strength to perform a deed she could not do, but after that...after that, all would fall into place. It was so simple, and she cursed herself for the petty maneuverings she'd bothered with in the past. Ceirn, poor Ceirn...

 

The stone was cold; Edrei experienced an odd surge of anger and disappointment. She rose, went to the mirror, and gazed at her own, very inadequate crown. It was delicate, intricate, beautifully wrought, but it was not the crown of a sovereign.

 

She sipped from the small cup on the table, gazing at herself, soon becoming lost in reverie. Wrapped in a cloudlike haze of pleasantly erotic visions, all of which involved Qui-Gon Jinn, she was not aware of the attendants who entered the room silently, darting looks at her as they carefully lay out the robes of coronation. They hurried out, disconcerted as Edrei touched herself between her thighs.

 

Edrei, Qui-Gon murmured into her mouth, one hand upon her breast. Edrei.

 

Qui-Gon...

 

Need you.

 

I need you.

 

Edrei.

 

Yes...

 

Edrei.

 

Oh, yes, yes...

 

/EDREI!/

 

Edrei was jolted out of her trance by the shout that tore itself through her nerves. It wasn't Qui-Gon.

 

/Edrei -- help me! I need you!/

 

/Ceirn!/ They had spoken this way in childhood, but it had been years since they'd bothered to do so. /What's wrong?/

 

/I'm trapped in one of the cells -- help me!/

 

Wish he'd stay there, Edrei thought with childish viciousness, but composed herself. /What happened?/

 

/Obi-Wan escaped. Edrei -- hurry!/

 

Edrei carefully took the corona from her head, placing it upon the table next to the sovereign's crown. She caressed the larger crown longingly, then swept toward the door.

 

/I'm coming, brother. I'm coming./

 

**********

 

The Senator smiled gently at the half-naked upstart child who stood before him, brandishing his blade with such dauntless courage. "Come closer, Obi-Wan, do."

 

Obi-Wan stood still, his eyes wary. "Release my master at once," he said quietly.

 

The Senator's smile widened briefly. "Do you know what happened to the last master and padawan who fell into my hands? Perhaps I shouldn't tell you just now. I'm not sure you are ready to hear it." He touched the remote, and the metal appendage sank into Qui-Gon's flesh. The Senator closed his eyes, relishing the noise the Jedi made.

 

"Let him go," Obi-Wan rasped, visibly struggling for control. "Let him go -- or suffer the consequences."

 

"What unbecoming talk. Did this one not teach you respect for your betters?"

 

"I know who my betters are. Master -- Master, are you --" Obi-Wan's eyes grew anxious as Qui-Gon fought to stay conscious.

 

"Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon whispered.

 

"I can kill him with this," the Senator said. "You know this, don't you? Of course you do -- that's why you keep such a prudent distance." He let his gaze roam appreciatively over the boy, examining the tunic -- Jinn's tunic, he surmised -- that fell to mid-thigh, exposing fine, strong legs. He would have more of that -- and soon, he decided. Very soon.

 

Obi-Wan took a step forward, nearly snarling with anger despite his most obvious exhaustion. "I will tell you one more time," he said. "Release him at once."

 

The Senator touched the remote, and the appendage moved again, its delicate prongs, alive with a powerful current, sinking in and twisting. The Jedi made another noise, longer and louder this time.

 

Obi-Wan, without hesitation, leapt toward the Senator, blue blade whirling. He stopped, nearly in mid-air, and fell to the ground with a shocked gasp, his eyes flaring in alarm as the Senator enfolded Obi-Wan's body in a crushing grip. The lightsaber clattered harmlessly to the ground, and the Senator reached out, calling it to his hand.

 

"Foolish child," the Senator said affectionately.

 

Qui-Gon feebly struggled against his bonds. "Obi-Wan --"

 

"Quiet, you," the Senator said, stepping to where Obi-Wan writhed in torment upon the ground, his body curling in on itself. He knelt beside Obi-Wan, stroking the shivering boy's hair. "I can end your suffering, Obi-Wan. I can end Qui-Gon's. But to do so, you must agree to yield to me." He touched Obi-Wan's thigh, a caress weighted with meaning, and loosened his hold upon Obi-Wan's body. Obi-Wan sagged limply, nearly unconscious, his face wet with tears of pain.

 

The Senator caressed Obi-Wan again. "Will you yield willingly?"

 

"If it will save my master's life...yes," Obi-Wan whispered tonelessly.

 

"No," Qui-Gon croaked, twisting in his manacles. "No, Obi-Wan --"

 

Obi-Wan hid his face in his hands. "Hurry."

 

The Senator smiled, unfastening his trousers. "Oh...I think not, my flower. I think not."

 

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan felt cool, dry hands clasp his wrists and pull his hands away from his face. He looked up at his benevolently smiling tormentor, and then at Qui-Gon, who had opened swollen, bleary eyes and was staring at Obi-Wan in anguish. Beside Qui-Gon, the droid hovered, its shining black surface menacing, terrifying.

 

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon rasped.

 

"Master," Obi-Wan whispered. "I'm sorry."

 

"Look at me, my flower," the Senator said, his voice smooth. "Look at me."

 

Slowly, reluctantly, Obi-Wan faced the Senator.

 

"You must learn independence, young one," the Senator said. "Surely you can see that your master can't help you. Nor can you help him -- unless I choose to allow it."

 

"What do you want?" Obi-Wan asked. Had he asked that before? It seemed a pointless question -- it did not seem possible that a man like this possessed reason, or compassion.

 

The Senator smiled, releasing Obi-Wan's wrists and crossing the room. Obi-Wan, still weak from hunger and the pain the man had inflicted upon him, crawled to Qui-Gon's side, desperate to touch his master, but hesitating at the sight of the cuts and burns that marred Qui-Gon's skin. Qui-Gon's tunic had been torn in places and adhered to his skin in wet, bloody patches. Obi-Wan, wanting to weep, caressed Qui-Gon's swollen and bruised hand. "Master," he said softly, "Oh, Master..."

 

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon whispered with great difficulty. "Don't...don't submit to him."

 

"But he'll kill you!"

 

Qui-Gon shook his head, exhausted. "He values you, Padawan. Don't..."

 

"Master -- "

 

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon closed his eyes. "I cannot...protect you, Padawan..."

 

Obi-Wan rested his cheek against Qui-Gon's reaching hand. "Don't try to speak, Master." He touched Qui-Gon's mouth. "I'll free you from this, I swear it. I love you."

 

"Obi-Wan."

 

Obi-Wan turned to look at the Senator, who held a theiris blossom in his hand.

 

"This appears to be a flower, does it not?" the Senator asked, his tone mild, pleasant. "That is illusion. What this truly is, Obi-Wan, is a gateway to the future. The images that cascaded through your mind, Obi-Wan -- they are more than portents. They are things which will truly come to pass. You need only open your mind and accept them. It was the will of the Force that we were brought together, Obi-Wan. You are the perfect receptacle for the visions. I will keep you by my side --"

 

"I'll die first," Obi-Wan said, fear and despair clenching in his throat. To be subjected to the visions, that horror -- no. He could not bear that.

 

"He lies, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, his voice stronger than it had been. "The visions are only illusion. Nothing is immutable, Padawan."

 

The Senator, smiling, touched his remote again. Qui-Gon screamed.

 

"Stop!" Obi-Wan cried. Oh, Force help me, he thought. What am I to do? "You promised --"

 

"So I did," the Senator said. "You won't die, child. You have a power in yourself, Obi-Wan -- and you fear it. It is nothing to fear, my flower. I have seen the future in your eyes, young padawan, and it is...glorious." His hand moved to the front of his trousers, and he took a step toward Obi-Wan. "Now...stay on your knees, my flower. Pleasure me."

 

Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon, who appeared to be only half-conscious. He cupped Qui-Gon's cheek and kissed his lips. "I love you. I will free you, Master." He brushed his thumb over the tear that spilled from Qui-Gon's eye.

 

"Padawan -- I'm sorry --"

 

Obi-Wan shook his head, smiling, stifling his own tears. "Nothing to be sorry for, Master."

 

"Now," the Senator said.

 

Obi-Wan faced the Senator once more, trembling hands clenched into fists. He wished he was strong enough to send a sleep-suggestion to Qui-Gon, but his grasp on the Force was tenuous. Don't watch, Master, he begged silently.

 

The Senator smiled down at Obi-Wan as he freed his organ from his trousers. Obi-Wan half-turned, barely able to look upon the man's vulpine expression, much less the half-hard penis the man exposed.

 

"Pleasure me," the Senator repeated. "And Obi-Wan -- if you dare injure me --" He held up the remote. "I promise you your master will know no end of suffering."

 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes in resignation. He did not move as he felt the Senator's hand in his hair, caressing his cheek, guiding him closer. His gorge rose as he felt hot flesh against his lips, but he tamped it down, opening his mouth.

 

The Senator pushed himself inside Obi-Wan's mouth. Obi-Wan gagged, fearing he would choke. He felt a steadying hand on the back of his head, and the Senator's voice. "Calm yourself, young padawan. Open wider for me."

 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Obi-Wan opened his mouth more widely, his empty stomach roiling as the Senator's organ slid over his lips and tongue in a repetitive motion that made him want to vomit.

 

The Senator took Obi-Wan's head in his hands, caressing him, now and then groaning as he pushed back deeply into Obi-Wan's mouth. Obi-Wan gagged again, but this only seemed to fuel his tormentor's excitement. "That's it, child. Take it all into your mouth...more..."

 

Obi-Wan dug his fingernails into his palms, focusing on the pain, deliberately shutting out the palpable anguish radiating from his silent master. Qui-Gon, he thought, I'm sorry. I can't --

 

"Oh, flower...Obi-Wan...."

 

Obi-Wan choked back the sob building in his throat. He was in this filthy dungeon, half-naked, kneeling before the obscenity who'd raped him, tortured his master, and Qui-Gon was helpless to save him. He could not save himself for Qui-Gon's sake, and the motion, the foulness rubbing over his mouth and tongue seemed to go on forever.

 

He suppressed the urge to bite down as the Senator ejaculated into his mouth. Obi-Wan pulled back quickly to spit onto the floor, but the Senator's hands grasped his head, held him tightly, and brought his flushed face close to Obi-Wan's, brushing a hand over Obi-Wan's mouth, his fingers pressing firmly against Obi-Wan's lips in unmistakable warning.

 

"Slowly, my flower. Slowly." He caressed Obi-Wan's throat with his fingertips, his expression dreamy. "Now, child...let me see you swallow."

 

Obi-Wan darted a glance toward Qui-Gon, who watched him silently, his face tormented. The Senator followed his glance and smiled in pleasure.

 

Obi-Wan turned back to the Senator and nodded in resignation. As the Senator took his fingers from Obi-Wan's mouth, Obi-Wan reared back and spat into the Senator's face.

 

/Obi-Wan!/ Anxiety-ridden as Qui-Gon's mental exclamation was, Obi-Wan still detected a hint of pride and an abundance of love. That was enough to fill Obi-Wan with a sudden fierce triumph. He glared defiantly at the Senator, feeling as though some of his strength had returned.

 

The Senator stumbled back with an inarticulate cry of rage and then lashed out, striking Obi-Wan in the temple.

 

"No!" Qui-Gon shouted.

 

Obi-Wan sank to the floor, gratefully succumbing to unconsciousness.

 

/It's all right, Master...all right.../

 

**********

 

Umak leaned on the windowsill, staring at the dimming, watery sunlight as it reflected off the water, turning the sea to a restless gold-grey. She focused her gaze on movement near the shoreline; there were hundreds of watercraft descending upon the isle. Faithful subjects, she surmised, thousands of mindless worshippers who had come to see a new era of despotism and subjugation dawn. The sight of such blind adulation filled her with scorn; she couldn't even pity them, herded like khrah onto land, guided toward the grassy field where the ceremony was to be held in a circle of ancient stones.

 

Her holoprojector chirped, and she gladly turned away from the spectacle of the gathering crowd to answer it. The image of her assistant -- a bald, intense young man -- appeared before her, and she nodded shortly.

 

"Karet -- what is it?"

 

"Mistress," Karet said softly, "I've completed the tests on the flower and the native soil."

 

"And?"

 

"I consulted with some colleagues, Mistress Umak, because I couldn't quite believe my own eyes. Two soil scientists and a botanist --"

 

"I don't need the details right now," Umak replied. "Just tell me -- yes or no."

 

Karet drew a deep sigh. "No."

 

Umak folded her arms, feeling her jaw tightening. "No," she repeated softly.

 

"I've performed every test possible, Mistress. I'm transmitting the data to you now. It simply...can't be done. The flowers go into stasis --"

 

"A Force-sensitive," Umak said.

 

"I have, Mistress -- a very elderly Jedi. He's no longer -- that is, he couldn't bear what he --"

 

"All right," Umak said with a wave of her hand. "I'll study the data."

 

Karet's chin tilted a bit arrogantly. "With all respect, Mistress -- I haven't made any mistakes."

 

"Perhaps," Umak allowed. "We'll see. You look as though you haven't slept in days."

 

Karet smiled. "I haven't."

 

"Remedy that," Umak said. "You need to sleep."

 

"You look tired yourself."

 

"I should heed my own words. I'll see you soon, Karet." She shut off the projector and crossed to the bed, flipping on the datapad. She scanned the data with a practiced eye, rapidly separating abstract from concrete, and finally reaching the same dismal conclusion her assistant had: it seemed impossible, thus far, to force the theiris to survive anywhere but Pralderis. Without her laboratory and all her resources it was impossible to make an absolute judgment, but she saw that Karet had been thorough and precise, which was no less than she expected from him. Even with the Living Force as an aid, a fertilizer of sorts, the flower would not be sustained off-planet -- not even in its native soil or water.

 

Her master would be very displeased.

 

She pushed the datapad away and lay full-length on the bed, closing her eyes. She was exhausted; the few days she'd spent back on Pralderis had drained her strength and energy. If this primitive rock of a planet had one decent research facility, her mind and body wouldn't be overtaxed.

 

She opened her eyes. She had never been one to lie to herself; why was she lying now?

 

It's the waste, she told herself, and I despise waste. Qui-Gon and his padawan were intelligent and powerful, and to use and discard them egregiously -- all for the sake of a few hallucinations -- was a prodigious misuse of skill and training. That was all.

 

One makes one's choices, she thought, and lives with them.

 

There would be bloodshed tonight, and more before they left, no doubt, at her master's behest. She would obey willingly. She had made her choices. Qui-Gon's past kindnesses to her were irrelevant, as was young Kenobi's innocence, much as the young man who'd died days ago, calling uselessly for his master -- would Obi-Wan call for his own master as Qui-Gon died? Surely her master would never allow Qui-Gon to live -- he was a necessity at the moment, but ultimately expendable.

 

She had watched them together, master and padawan, and there had been a tenderness between them that had moved her -- yes, it had moved her, she admitted to herself. But a brief moment of sentiment was a candle before the vast flame of knowledge. The pursuit of knowledge extracted a heavy price at times.

 

Umak had made her choice -- and she alone would bear the consequences.

 

She slept, her slumber troubled by dreams.

 

**********

 

With a scowl, Edrei dismissed the guard who'd opened the door even as she fell into Ceirn's arms. "What happened, Ceirn?"

 

Ceirn shoved her away. "That damned Obi-Wan -- he locked me in here," he snarled, striding down the hall. "You!" he barked to the retreating guard. "Follow me!"

 

Edrei followed him as well. "We don't have time, Ceirn."

 

Ceirn swung around to face her angrily. "Am I sovereign, or am I not? I won't have him running loose in the Hold, 'drei." He started down the hall again, throwing doors open, letting them bang against stone walls. "Where's that fool master of his?"

 

"Ceirn --"

 

"Oh, shut up, 'drei." He stopped before a heavy door and paused, grinning at her. "In here," he said, flinging the door open. He and Edrei both froze at the scene before them.

 

The Senator was standing over Obi-Wan, who was lying senseless upon the floor, half-clad in Qui-Gon's tunic. Nearby, Qui-Gon was chained to the wall, his body arched in pain as he strained against his bonds. The Jedi master appeared to be weeping; it was a disconcerting, even upsetting sight.

 

"Qui-Gon," Edrei whispered. She wrapped her arms around Ceirn, folding her body tightly against her brother's.

 

The Senator turned with perfect deliberation and smiled at the pair. "Greetings."

 

Ceirn's body was tense. "You -- what are you doing?"

 

Qui-Gon gasped, his body sagging as though beneath a great weight. Edrei curbed her impulse to run to him, to hold his tortured body in her arms, to tenderly wipe his fevered brow. She dimpled suddenly at the thought of herself ministering to him, and clung more tightly to Ceirn.

 

"What is this?" Ceirn inquired softly, taking a step forward, Edrei still clinging to him. "What have you done to Obi-Wan?"

 

"Ceirn, please --" Edrei began.

 

"It is of no consequence, your Highness," the Senator replied easily.

 

"Everything that takes place in my household is of consequence to me," Ceirn replied. "I don't know who you are, or why Edrei thought she could deal with me through you, but I'm putting a stop to this at once. There's a transport going offworld in the morning, and I want you and your friend on it -- do you understand me?"

 

The Senator bowed respectfully. "Your wish is my will, Highness."

 

"Not Highness," Ceirn said. "Majesty."

 

Not yet, Edrei thought.

 

Ceirn turned to the guard. "Get Obi-Wan back to his cell," he ordered. "Get him some clothes. And get this man under guard -- his friend too."

 

"I invited them to the coronation," Edrei said, hardly daring to breathe.

 

"I think not," Ceirn said.

 

"You'd rather leave him here with Obi-Wan?"

 

Ceirn paused for a moment, turning to Edrei with a sardonic grin. "Sometimes, Edrei, you surprise me. Very well -- I suppose so. They're to be heavily guarded, though."

 

Edrei did not allow her triumph to show in her eyes. "We should go. Everyone's waiting, Ceirn." She wanted to laugh, but did not so much as smile.

 

Ceirn looked down at Edrei, touching her mouth. "Are you so eager to see me ascend the throne, 'drei? I'd thought the opposite."

 

Edrei smiled. "Come -- let's leave, Ceirn. Soon, you'll be sovereign." Then dead, mourned briefly, and easily forgotten, she thought, once I've ascended the throne. It was all so simple.

 

She looked at the Senator, but he was looking down at Obi-Wan, his expression unreadable.

 

Soon, she reassured herself.

 

Very soon.

 

**********

 

 

**********

 

"Maerin..."

 

"No...Fian, no, please."

 

"Maerin...dearest Maerin...it is unavoidable."

 

"Not now -- Master, please, not yet."

 

Fian's face remained gentle, and she smiled. "Few receive this gift, Maerin. You should count yourself fortunate."

 

Maerin shook his head, angry. "I don't want your gift, Fian. You can take it back."

 

"Maerin -- listen to me. Listen to me!"

 

"No!"

 

"Maerin!"

 

Maerin awoke to the sound of his own weak coughing. He rolled over on his side, hunching his body to ease some of the pain. He pressed his hands against the wound and felt a slippery wetness; the wound had reopened.

 

He curled more tightly into himself on the thin pallet. The guards had taken all his medical supplies; he didn't have anything to staunch the wound but for his own shirt. He felt the blood oozing sluggishly between his fingers. Closing his eyes, he tried to slip into the trance state that would bring a reprieve from pain.

 

Varden, he thought, by all that's sacred -- hurry. I'm so afraid.

 

**********

 

Varden cast his eyes toward the ocean and the sinking sun. The air had become heavy, scented with rain. He tilted his face to the sky, waiting for the first drop.

 

"It wouldn't be a Thanach coronation without rain."

 

Varden turned to face Edrei, who was fastening the jeweled collar of her woolen cloak. "True," he agreed. "Why should Ceirn buck tradition?"

 

She smiled. "He'd probably have been angry if it hadn't rained."

 

Varden frowned. "Where is he, anyway? We're late already." It had been hours since he'd been able to see Maerin. He hoped --

 

"Here," Ceirn said, striding through the door. "Uncle Einan rearranged the security guards. A storm's brewing -- he's removed most of the guards on Tybeirn Cliff side and is concentrating them around the Stone."

 

Edrei looked anxious. "Do you think we'll have trouble this evening?"

 

Ceirn shrugged. "If so, we're prepared for it."

 

"How many guards?" Varden asked.

 

"Fifty, sixty -- that will suffice. Einan says that Kell Stone is overrun with spectators. Still, it shouldn't be difficult to stop a few insurrectionists -- there aren't any swoops or transports save the guards'."

 

Varden nodded in satisfaction. Sixty guards against thousands -- perhaps it would be a bloodless coup after all.

 

"You both look splendid," Edrei said.

 

Varden looked down at his clothes -- the ceremonial kilt, the jewels. "Thanks, 'drei -- you look lovely as well." He smiled at Ceirn. "You look lovely too." He grinned as Ceirn made kissing noises at him. "Hold still," he said, reaching out to adust Ceirn's brooch. "There -- it was crooked."

 

"Thank you, Varden," Ceirn said quietly, almost shyly.

 

Varden paused, his fingertips still touching Ceirn's brooch, and lifted his hand to cup his brother's cheek. It hadn't been long since they had all run, shrieking with childish laughter, through the twisting corridors of the Hold, playing games and romping with joyful abandon. Reive had been alive then, a gentle, thoughtful boy, devoted to learning. He had been fascinated with the theiris. Look where that had gotten him, Varden thought bitterly. If anyone had been fit to rule this planet, it had been Reive.

 

Ceirn's eyes looked guileless. They are not, Varden realized, as Edrei's are not, and my own are not. Plotting, all of us.

 

Ceirn put his hand against Varden's. "The world is changing, Varden."

 

"Yes."

 

"Have you never wanted to rule?" Ceirn asked.

 

Varden shook his head. "Not in a thousand years, Ceirn."

 

Ceirn nodded, then tilted his head to the side in a delicate gesture. "No," he said. "No, you would not. Still..."

 

Varden took his hand from Ceirn's cheek. He was not skilled in the Gift, but he blocked his brother's mental probing with little effort, something he and Reive had been able to do since they'd been small boys.

 

Ceirn smiled. "You needn't hide your ambition from me."

 

"My thoughts are my own," Varden said shortly.

 

"As you wish," Ceirn shrugged.

 

"What about the Jedi?" Varden asked.

 

Ceirn scowled. "What about them?"

 

"What's to become of them?"

 

"They're spoken for," Ceirn said. "I've granted Qui-Gon to Edrei -- she wants another dreamer."

 

"Ceirn," Edrei warned.

 

"Sorry, 'drei -- enlighten me if it's not true. Obi-Wan is for me," Ceirn went on, putting his arm around Edrei's shoulder. "Until I tire of him."

 

Varden looked at his brother and sister, feeling nausea rising in his throat. He did not care about the Jedi -- did not care if they lived or died, in fact, but theirs was a fate he would never have wished upon them.

 

"We should go," Edrei said. "It's nearly dark."

 

They stepped out of the courtyard. The guards, ministers, courtiers, Einan, all assembled in perfect order, waiting patiently for the family.

 

Varden walked slowly to the rear of the assemblage, taking his position beside his sister. As he looked up into the darkening sky, he felt a cold wetness on his cheek. It had begun to rain.

 

**********

 

Garen squinted at his instrument panel. "Look at this," he said. "Dense lifeform readings concentrated very near to the coordinates of the Hold. They're scarce elsewhere on the island."

 

"Put us somehwere inconspicuous," Adi ordered. "I don't want to land in the middle of a crowd."

 

"Strange terrain," Garen mused. "All right."

 

Adi turned to Tahl. "You can stay put, Tahl, or you can come with us. But if you decide to come with us, you're wearing the infrareds -- I don't care how disconcerting they are."

 

Tahl smiled. "Does she order you about like that?" she asked Garen.

 

Garen shrugged good-naturedly. "I'm used to it," he retorted, then grinned at the swat Adi gave him. "Sorry, Master."

 

"I mean it, Tahl," Adi warned.

 

"All right," Tahl conceded. "I'll wear the infrareds." She sighed as Adi slipped them into her hand, then fitted the visor about her eyes.

 

"What's it like?" Garen asked curiously.

 

"I don't like it," Tahl replied. "It's not so much seeing as it is... I can't describe it. You're there, but all I can sense is a column of energy. I can't tell what objects are, only that they're there. They have mass and heat, but no shape, no details to discern one thing from another. It's -- disconcerting, as Adi said."

 

"Isn't it better than not seeing at all?"

 

"No." She did not elaborate, and Garen decided not to press the point. He banked and took the ship low, flying close to the sea. The ship quivered, but Garen brought it under control quickly. "Stormy out there."

 

"I wonder if it's hit land yet," Adi remarked. "If possible, I'd like to be there and out before it gets bad."

 

"It's so like you, Adi," Tahl said airily, "to expect the weather to comply with your schedule."

 

Garen laughed at his master's scowl. "Tahl, you should see her face."

 

"I can well imagine," Tahl said.

 

"You two," Adi grumbled. "All right, Garen, land us somewhere on this rock. If I can't get the weather to cooperate, then we'll just have to make this a fast rescue."

 

"Yes, Master." Garen was not prescient, but he felt a sudden unshakeable assurance that they would be successful. He smiled at Adi, pleased to see her return the smile, her stern, elegant face lit from within.

 

He slowed their speed, looking for a place to land.

 

**********

 

The guards dragged Obi-Wan through the corridors and threw him into his cell. They pulled Qui-Gon's tunic from him, though he fought them. It was a foolish resistance on his part, perhaps, but he was unwilling to relinquish even that small part of his master. The tunic still bore Qui-Gon's scent. The guards wrestled the tunic from Obi-Wan, tearing it in the process, subduing Obi-Wan with slaps, kicks, and cuffs, and leaving him huddled naked on the floor. Obi-Wan wept when they left, furious, frustrated, and exhausted.

 

Some time later, the cell door opened, and through the relatively brighter light, Obi-Wan saw an older woman enter. She placed some objects close to Obi-Wan and backed out of the cell. Obi-Wan waited until the door had closed to feel for the objects -- a container of water, a bowl of some kind of porridge, and a loose tunic and trousers. Obi-Wan slipped the clothing on and drank the water, feeling it soothe his parched throat. He ate the porridge slowly, not caring whether or not it was drugged. He stopped eating when stomach cramps seized him, and lay on his side, waiting for them to subside.

 

He felt some of his strength returning, and he felt clearheaded for the first time in what must have been days. The food hadn't been drugged, Obi-Wan realized. He sat against the wall, allowing his senses to clear, and feeling calm -- which had been elusive lately, to say the least -- returning to him. It was amazing, he mused, how far a little food and water went toward restoring the spirit as well as the body.

 

Escape -- that was, without question, their first priority. He would have to free Qui-Gon, which in itself would not be easy. However, escaping the island, and then the planet, was a more complex and difficult proposition. They would have to stow aboard a transport, or contact the Temple for a rescue ship.

 

Calm, he advised himself. First things first -- I've got to get out of this cell.

 

He went to the door and knocked, almost timidly. "Hello?" There was no reply, and so he banged on the heavy wood with his fist. "Hello! Can anyone hear me?" Satisfied that he was alone -- or being ignored -- he felt the hinges on the door. It would take effort and patience to remove them, but it could be done, he thought. And if someone came to investigate -- so much the better. It would be a simpler matter to subdue someone, as long as his strength held out.

 

The hinges were old and rusted. Obi-Wan worked patiently, using the remainder of the porridge as a solvent. He grinned as the sludgy substance dripped down his arm. Cures all ills, he thought. Hold on, Master. Eventually, after a long and frustrating struggle, he managed to work the pins from the hinges and slipped into the deserted corridor.

 

He sped silently toward the room where his master was a prisoner. Opening the door, he saw Qui-Gon, chained to the wall, unconscious, his face pale, marred with cuts and bruises. The torture droid hung suspended above him, silent, its red lights blinking in a steady rhythm.

 

As he stepped into the room, the droid clicked, rotating slowly. It made a high, buzzing noise, then zoomed toward him, a deadly-looking blade extended. Obi-Wan dropped into a tuck and roll, flattening himself beside a table. The droid stopped, then turned, its sensors seeking Obi-Wan's presence. Obi-Wan held still, hardly daring to breathe.

 

"Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon's voice was a cracked whisper.

 

Obi-Wan peered at Qui-Gon anxiously. "Master -- are you all right?"

 

"Your saber," Qui-Gon whispered, moving one of his bound hands. Obi-Wan's eyes widened at the sight of his saber lying discarded on the floor not far from Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan examined Qui-Gon, frowning. Why had Qui-Gon not called the saber to himself earlier? Was he so weak that he could not access the Force at all?

 

"Master," Obi-Wan whispered, "how badly are you hurt?"

 

Qui-Gon shook his head slowly. "Quite badly, Padawan."

 

"It's all right, Master. I'll have you free in a moment." He concentrated, gathered his strength, and reached out to the Force, summoning the saber to his outstretched hand. In an instant, he leapt to his feet and whirled faster than the eye could see, cleaving the hateful droid in two. He smiled in grim satisfaction as the droid clattered harmlessly to the floor, its high buzzing drone dying.

 

Obi-Wan ran to Qui-Gon, slicing through the chains that bound Qui-Gon to the wall. Qui-Gon groaned as his arms fell limply to the floor.

 

Obi-Wan lifted Qui-Gon's cold hands, massaging them. "Master...oh, Master, what has he done to you?" Qui-Gon's face was utterly white, as though he'd been bled. Obi-Wan fought for control, a weak, helpless anger against their tormentor flooding through him.

 

Qui-Gon's eyes opened, darkest blue laced with snaps of red. He groped for Obi-Wan's hands with his own. "Obi-Wan...I want you to leave."

 

"That's just what we're going to do," Obi-Wan said. "We've got to find a way out of here. If you're injured internally, Master, please tell --"

 

"Padawan," Qui-Gon said urgently. "I don't think I can walk. And he'll be back for you. You must go at once."

 

Obi-Wan frowned. "I'm not leaving without you."

 

The effort to speak was taking its toll upon Qui-Gon. "I insist upon it, Padawan. Protect yourself."

 

Though Obi-Wan wanted to weep, he smiled, cupping Qui-Gon's cheek and kissing his lips. "Master...under normal circumstances, I would obey you without question. But just this once, I have no intention of doing so. Be quiet and let me help you out of here."

 

Qui-Gon sighed, the ghost of a smile drifting across his features. "Very well, Padawan."

 

"I'll carry you if I must," Obi-Wan said confidently -- more confidently than he felt. The burst of energy from the food and water was diminishing, and he wondered how he would ever get both of them off this Force-forsaken rock.

 

"If you help me to my feet, Obi-Wan, I'll try to walk."

 

"Put your arm over my shoulders, Master." Wincing at the pain on Qui-Gon's face as he complied with Obi-Wan's request, Obi-Wan braced himself against the wall and rose slowly, doing his utmost not to jar or injure Qui-Gon further.

 

Qui-Gon's face had become impossibly white and his features were set in an expression of extreme pain. He hissed as Obi-Wan shifted his weight to better support him.

 

"I'm sorry, Master --"

 

Qui-Gon shook his head. "It's fine."

 

Obi-Wan doubted it, but did not press the matter. "We're going to walk, Master. If you tire, we'll rest." Moving with great care, he propelled Qui-Gon across the room, bearing most of his master's considerable weight on his shoulders. We're not going to get far like this, Obi-Wan thought in dismay. I don't have the strength to carry him, and I'm not strong enough to use the Force.

 

As if discerning Obi-Wan's thoughts, Qui-Gon struggled to support himself. A groan escaped from behind clenched teeth.

 

Moving with painstaking slowness, they made their way through the corridor, stopping at a fork that split the corridor in two.

 

"Which way?" Obi-Wan asked wearily.

 

"Put me down," Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan lowered him to the floor, kneeling beside him.

 

"Master, what is it?"

 

Qui-Gon reached out, touching Obi-Wan's cheek. "You're exhausted, Padawan -- I can feel it. Rest."

 

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I can keep going, Master." Belatedly, he realized that perhaps Qui-Gon had requested they stop because of his own fatigue. "If you're tired, Master --"

 

"No," Qui-Gon said. "You're exhausting yourself. Go -- go and investigate both corridors, Obi-Wan. If we come up short on one, you'll have to backtrack. You don't need me hampering you. Rest a while, then go."

 

"Don't speak, Master," Obi-Wan begged, even as he realized the practicality of Qui-Gon's directive. "I'll go if you promise to let me carry you." At Qui-Gon's weak nod, he smiled and kissed Qui-Gon again. "I love you, Master. I'll be back."

 

Obi-Wan rose to his feet, running down the corridor, feeling more tired than ever. When we get back to Coruscant, he promised himself, I'm going to sleep for days -- preferably next to Qui-Gon.

 

That pleasant thought hastened his steps. The stone floor was cold under his bare feet, but he scarcely noticed, putting on a burst of speed and nearly running into a wall. He stopped, frustrated, but calmed himself, mentally thanking Qui-Gon for his pragmatic wisdom. He trotted down the corridor, breaking into a run at the sound of voices raised in agitation.

 

He halted at the sight of Umak Leth, her pale face calm as she held a golden-bladed lightsaber in an attack posture, though she did not move. She stared at Edrei Thanach, who stood with her back against a wall, a jeweled dagger held to Qui-Gon's throat.

 

"No closer, Obi-Wan," Edrei said, pressing the blade against Qui-Gon's vulnerable throat. "Or he dies."

 

**********

 

Thunder swelled in the distance, though it was drowned out by the droning pipes that echoed over Kell Stone, the place of coronation, a flat, carved rock in the center of a circle of massive stone columns. Varden looked at the carvings at his feet, his demeanor solemn. A hundred generations of Thanach have been crowned here, he thought. And it is all to end tonight. Future generations will curse or bless us -- but whatever the outcome, tonight will change history forever. 

 

Varden himself would precipitate the coup. At his spoken words, the rebellion would commence. Let it be bloodless, he thought -- as bloodless as it can be. Maerin is right -- innocent lives must not be > lost. I will see that the Jedi are freed.

 

He looked at Ceirn, bareheaded, his hair shining in the light of the torches, and Edrei, resplendent in rich fabrics and jewels, wearing the delicate coronet that had belonged to their mother. He noted that Edrei's eyes strayed constantly to the sovereign's coronet, held on a dark cushion by Einan Thanach . Ceirn and Edrei glanced at one another, smiling. 

 

Varden repressed a scowl. It wasn't necessary to be skilled in the Gift to see Edrei's naked envy and anger, nor Ceirn's glee and triumph in his sister's defeat. And still they would be wed. Well, they were welcome to one another, Varden thought -- certainly they were a well-matched pair in so many respects.  
Varden, from the corner of his eye, saw Toran sidling to a prominent position in the crowd. Toran, Maerin, and Fian, before she'd been murdered, had been the heart of the rebellion, working tirelessly and without any thought of personal reward. Now Fian was dead, and Maerin lay wounded in the Hold. Toran, with his grim, craggy features, looked exhausted, though, paradoxically, his manner was resolute and brave even in stillness -- as though he could have taken on all the Thanach on his own. 

 

Toran caught his eye and smiled. Varden had seen that look a hundred times. Courage, it said. There was no doubt what they were doing was right. It was time -- past time -- to end the reign of despotism, of injustice and oppression, of lassitude and excess. Varden returned the smile, reassured by Toran's valor.

 

The pipes had stopped, their last notes still lingering in the air. Varden looked at his uncle who, with an air of bored patience, proffered the cushion on which the crown reposed. Einan would fight until his last drop of blood had been spilt to preserve the crown; Toran, as strong in the Gift as Einan, if not stronger, was prepared for attack.

 

Varden took the crown from the cushion and regarded it thoughtfully. He looked at Ceirn, who had knelt and was staring at Varden expectantly. There had been no rehearsal, no preparation for this event; it was a deceptively simple ceremony, devoid of elaborate trappings or excessive protocol.

 

There was a silence, a stillness in the air as though even the wind and rain had ceased, waiting for Varden to crown the next Thanach sovereign. Varden stepped in front of his brother, his glance > flicking toward Edrei. She stared up at the crown, her dark eyes glittering in the torchlight. He felt a moment's pity for her. What a family we are, he thought bitterly. 

 

Varden lifted the crown, and the air grew even more hushed. He took a breath and spoke, his voice ringing out in the silence. 

 

"Neither collar nor crown." 

 

There was a sudden, shocked gasp, and the crowd began to murmur. Ceirn looked up at Varden, shaking his head slowly, his expression incredulous. >

 

Toran spoke, his voice booming above the murmur of the crowd. "Neither collar nor crown. Neither collar nor crown. Neither collar nor --" Other voices took up the chant, quietly at first, then stronger, stronger still until the words were a roar, a vast, spreading noise that echoed through the stones and down the grassy slopes, seeming to echo to the sea itself. 

 

Varden lowered the crown, tears in his eyes. He looked down at Ceirn, still on his knees, and at Edrei, who was staring at him in shock, her face utterly white. She looked at Einan, who moved forward, but was pinned by a dozen people who had drawn weapons and looked all too eager to use them. Quickly, the guards about the stone were subdued as well, their weapons taken from them and their arms pinned. 

 

Ceirn rose to his feet slowly, his eyes locked upon his brother's. He took hold of the crown and wrenched it from an unprotesting Varden. He stood nose to nose with him, seemingly oblivious of the ever-increasing roar of the crowd. 

 

"You damned fool," Ceirn said in a soft but perfectly audible voice. "I might have known. I can crown myself just as well as you can, Varden." He raised the crown, his hands trembling with his fury, and then he stopped, his eyes widening. There was a ringing metallic clatter as he dropped the crown and sank to his knees again, his cheeks flushed in the torchlight. 

 

Varden took a step forward. "Ceirn?" 

 

Ceirn clutched at his throat and looked up at Varden, his eyes wide and frightened. He made a gasping noise, but no words emerged. 

 

"Ceirn -- Ceirn, what's wrong?" Varden asked. He took hold of Ceirn's desperately groping hand and sank to his knees beside his brother. "Ceirn!" 

 

In an instant, Toran was beside him. "What's wrong?" 

 

"He can't breathe -- we need help. Edrei -- Edrei! Help us!" Varden cried. "What's the matter with him?" 

 

Edrei, her cheeks still pale as sand, began to back away from them, shaking her head. "I don't know." 

 

The crowds in the immediate vicinity, seeing what was happening, had stopped shouting, but the rest of the multitude, enflamed by the call, had begun to shift, closing in on the hill. 

 

Ceirn had grasped the front of Varden's cloak and was clinging to it like a drowning man. He cast a desperate glance at Edrei, then stared at Varden, his mouth open, his chest heaving -- yet he could not seem to get any air. 

 

Edrei bent to the ground and picked up the crown, clutching it to her breast. 

 

"What have you done?" Einan roared, struggling against the group of men who kept him from lunging at Varden. "You've poisoned him!" There was another murmur from the crowd around them. 

 

Varden shook his head. "Poisoned? No, I never -- Ceirn, please --" Frantically, he hauled Ceirn to a sitting position, bending him forward. "Try to breathe calmly. Ceirn -- Edrei, by all that's sacred, damn you, help me!" he roared to his sister as she watched, her eyes calm. 

 

Toran gripped his arm. "What can I do?" 

 

"Find a healer -- anyone! Quickly!" 

 

Toran rose, muttered something to the pale young man beside him, and strode off. 

 

Edrei sank to the ground beside them and put a hand on Varden's shoulder. "Is he all right?" 

 

Something in her tone made Varden turn to her, feeling as though he were in a dream. He stroked Ceirn's hair as Ceirn clung to him, his eyes wide with terror. "What?" 

 

"How is he?" Her eyes were overbright, avid with some undiscernable emotion. 

 

Varden frowned, his hand ceasing its soothing movement on Ceirn's hair. "Edrei?" 

 

Edrei placed a hand on Ceirn's cheek, looking almost regretful. She rose to her feet, still holding the crown. 

 

"You knew this would happen," he breathed, staring at her. "You --" 

 

Slowly, she removed the delicate crown from her head and dropped it to the ground. She began to back away, smiling. 

 

"Edrei --" Varden began. He looked around, desperate to find Toran in the crush. "Toran!" Toran had gone, though. Still clinging to his brother, who gasped futilely for air, his body convulsing now, Varden stared helplessly at Edrei's retreating form. "Toran!" How did she know -- had she poisoned him? Or was it -- 

 

At last, Varden saw faces he recognized. "Keil! Laret! Help me!" 

 

"What can I do, sir?" Keil, a lean young woman bent toward him. "Oh, no --" 

 

"My sister," he ground out. "Stop her. And the Senator, too, and that woman --" 

 

"Senator?" 

 

"Never mind," Varden snapped. "Edrei. Stop her! Find her!" 

 

"Yes, sir." The two took off, knifing through the crowd. 

 

Varden held his brother in the midst of the chaos around him, tears pouring down his face as the light dimmed from Ceirn's eyes and the color faded from his cheeks. "Ceirn," he gasped. "Ceirn, I'm sorry. I never meant this to happen...Ceirn..." 

 

He gathered his lifeless brother into his arms and wept. 

 

********** 

 

 

With an air of resigned patience, Umak watched the grim tableau unfold before her. The young man's death was regrettable -- yet what was the death of one untrained Force-sensitive in the face of the inevitable demise of thousands of Jedi? The Senator stood beside her, his hands folded in the sleeves of his robe, his face calm, composed. The chaos surrounding them both might not have even existed. Not so much as a muscle twitched as he stared at the young man who was even now lying in his brother's arms, futilely gasping for a last breath of air. 

 

The guards around them had been subdued by the citizenry, who appeared to be less docile than Umak had thought. The notion unaccountably pleased her, and she smiled. A short distance away, Edrei Thanach slipped through the crowd, abandoning her brothers like a duplicitous thief. Umak watched her retreat with little interest. Why do you run, girl? she thought. There's nowhere for you to go. 

 

The young man expired; his weeping brother clutched him in his arms, rocking him to and fro. Umak sighed and smoothed her gloves. 

 

"This rebellion is an unexpected development," the Senator said, leaning close. 

 

"Yes, my Lord." 

 

"The theiris must be preserved, and Jinn and young Kenobi must be escorted to Coruscant." 

 

"So close to the Temple, my Lord?" 

 

"You'll hold them in your facility, Umak, where we both can work. I'll take Obi-Wan to my personal quarters later." 

 

"Yes, my Lord." 

 

"We'll follow Her Highness to the Hold. I fear she has designs on Jinn." The Senator closed his eyes. "Yes. Yes, she does." 

 

Umak kept silent, wondering if the Senator's assurance was rooted in prescience or confidence. One was as intangible as the other, but she had far more faith in confidence. 

 

"We must thank her for all she's done for us." 

 

Umak rested her hand on the hilt of her saber. "Certainly, my Lord." 

 

"Gently, Umak -- gently. I don't wish to cause her undue pain or fear." 

 

Umak smiled. "You have some affection for her, my Lord?" 

 

"She has a certain crude cunning that I admire, Umak. It's a pity that she is untrained and undisciplined." 

 

Umak did not agree. "Indeed." 

 

"Yes. Well, come along, Umak." Smiling, the Senator effortlessly cleared a path through the crowd, Umak following in his wake. They had reached the wide, curving path to the Hold when the Senator stopped abruptly, halting their progress. 

 

"My Lord?" 

 

"Jedi," he hissed. 

 

Umak frowned. "I don't understand." 

 

"There." 

 

Umak followed his gesture, focusing on three brown-robed figures in the distance, running toward the melee. Two were hooded, but the third was not -- a young man with an untidy mop of sandy hair. A padawan braid trailed down his back. Umak sensed the Senator tensing in a miasma of anger 

and desire. 

 

"Come to rescue their comrades, I'd venture," the Senator said quietly. 

 

Umak took her saber in hand. "I'll deal with them,my Lord. You must go to the mainland quickly." 

 

"You'll proceed as planned," the Senator ordered. "Get to the Hold and kill the girl. Retrieve the theiris -- as much as you can carry. Then, bring the Jedi to Coruscant. If you cannot bring both, kill Jinn -- but I want Obi-Wan alive. Avoid these other Jedi if at all possible. Am I understood?" 

 

"Yes, my Lord." 

 

"We'll rendezvous on Coruscant." 

 

"Yes, my Lord." She did not feel betrayed or angry at his abandonment. Her own life, however much her master might have valued it, was, in the end, inconsequential compared to his. 

 

She watched as he slipped unnoticed through the crowd, into the growing darkness, and then proceeded into the Hold. The outer gates were unprotected; the interior doors were defended by a dozen nervous-looking guards, who yielded at her terse command. 

 

"The mob will be here soon," she informed their leader with a mirthless smile. "Were I you, I'd seek to escape. Pralderis has a new order in its future." The guards looked at one another uneasily, but did not move. Umak shrugged. "Please yourself." She moved past them into the darkened halls of Thanach Hold. 

 

There was no sign of celebration, no evidence of feasting or merrymaking at the coronation of a new sovereign. That was passing strange, but Umak didn't trouble to wonder at it, hastening her stride as she moved silently toward the corridors that would lead her to the lower levels of the Hold, where the theiris bloomed and the captive Jedi awaited their fate. 

 

The twisting hallways led her astray twice, into dead ends of unyielding stone walls. Frustrated, she stopped, reached out through the Force, and centered herself. Resuming her trek, she ran through the passageways, a cold triumph filling her as she heard the girl's voice. 

 

The girl whirled as Umak skidded to a halt, then scrambled backward, nearly tripping over a semi-conscious Qui-Gon, who sat propped against the wall, his face drained of color even in the flickering warmth of the torches. An inarticulate choking noise escaped the girl's throat as she held a jeweled dagger to Qui-Gon's throat. 

 

Umak calmly ignited her saber, stepping into an attack stance. The girl screeched and clutched at Qui-Gon, looking as though she was clinging to him for support and help rather than using him as a shield. "Stay back!" Edrei screamed. "Or I'll kill him -- I will." 

 

"You haven't a hope for survival, girl," Umak said softly. "You know that, don't you?" 

 

Edrei sobbed. "I will kill him -- leave me alone!" She pressed the blade to Qui-Gon's throat. A thin red trickle appeared from beneath the blade. 

 

"I thought you felt some ardor for Master Jinn," Umak said. "What an interesting way of displaying affection." 

 

Qui-Gon opened swollen eyelids, focusing his gaze on Umak. "Leave the girl alone, Knight Leth." 

 

Umak ground her teeth at the address, but did not rise to Qui-Gon's baiting. "This girl had her own brother murdered, Master Jinn -- and you would shelter her?" 

 

"Are you avenging his death?" Qui-Gon asked. 

 

"I haven't time for this," Umak snapped. "You and the boy are coming with me, and this one," she made an impatient chopping gesture with her blade, "is going to die." 

 

"No," Edrei whimpered, clutching even more tightly at Qui-Gon. "Qui-Gon, help me." 

 

"If I have to kill him to get to you, girl, I will," Umak said. The girl sobbed again. Umak took a step forward, then stopped at a faint pounding noise that grew ever louder with each passing second. Umak gazed calmly at the approaching figure of Obi-Wan Kenobi, holding his blade at the ready despite his most obvious weakness and exhaustion. Umak felt an unwilling admiration for these two Jedi, and a fleeting pang for what she'd abandoned. 

 

"No closer, Obi-Wan," Edrei said, pressing the blade against Qui-Gon's vulnerable throat. "Or he dies." 

 

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan's fatigue was nearly total; it was all he could do to keep himself from sinking to the floor. He planted his feet firmly, assessing his situation. It did not look good.

 

"Let him go, Edrei," he said calmly.

 

Edrei spat a curse at him, tears running down her cheeks. "You can rot, Jedi -- fuck yourself on that weapon of yours."

 

"Such vulgarity," Umak Leth remarked. "Hardly becoming to a sovereign. Stand down, Padawan Kenobi."

 

Obi-Wan peered warily at Leth. "What are you doing?"

 

"I'm going to kill her," Leth replied. "That might be a mercy."

 

"What do you mean?" Obi-Wan asked. He never abandonded his stance, staying alert for an opportunity to rescue Qui-Gon without bloodshed. He glanced anxiously at his master; Qui-Gon's eyes were closed, his face white and still. Hold on, Master, Obi-Wan thought. Hold on, for just a while.

 

"What I mean, young padawan, is that there is a revolution afoot. Don't tell me you didn't know about it."

 

Obi-Wan looked at Edrei. "I'd heard something about it -- the true revolution, that is -- from Maerin Thanach. Is he still here?"

 

"I've no idea," Leth shrugged. "But I can tell you that the mob is going to be unsympathetic toward a sovereign who orders the death of her own brother, as despotic as he would have been. How will you keep them from tearing you to pieces, your Highness -- or is it your Majesty?"

 

Obi-Wan stared at Edrei. "You had Ceirn murdered?"

 

Edrei wept noisily, her pretty face becoming contorted. "You -- the Senator tricked me into it!"

 

"Oh, I'm sure," Leth said. "And you truly have the welfare of your people at heart. Did you ever give one thought to the responsibilities you would have as leader, girl? Or were you simply in love with the notion of power?"

 

"She wants to kill Qui-Gon," Edrei cried.

 

Obi-Wan faced Leth, his face hardening. "You dare not."

 

Leth smiled grimly. "If that stupid girl puts her blade down, I won't have to."

 

"Drop the knife, Edrei," Obi-Wan warned.

 

"I want a transport," Edrei sobbed. "I want safe conduct to a central system. Then I'll release him."

 

Obi-Wan's head was aching. He looked at Leth, her eyes glittering with cold determination, then at Edrei, who clung to Qui-Gon with astonishing tenacity, tears pouring down her flushed cheeks. Finally, he looked at Qui-Gon, who had opened his eyes and was looking at Obi-Wan with an air of serenity despite his suffering. Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon's confidence and love, and was renewed.

 

"You can't win, Edrei," Obi-Wan said gently. "Surely you see that. If you drop the knife, I will see that you come to no harm."

 

"She's going to kill me," Edrei wept.

 

"Yes, I am," Leth said, ignoring Edrei's renewed paroxysm of crying. "And you are coming with me, Obi-Wan, both you and Master Jinn. My master awaits."

 

Obi-Wan felt a cold pang of fear coiling in his belly. "No," he said. "No, never."

 

"It's not so bad, young padawan," Leth said, her expression nearly regretful. "If you'd submit to the visions, you'd suffer less. Even this foolish girl knows that."

 

"I won't allow it, Umak," Qui-Gon said faintly.

 

"Master --" Obi-Wan began.

 

Leth overrode him. "Be silent, Master Jinn -- you can scarcely move on your own. In any case, my orders are clear. Padawan Kenobi comes with me. If I cannot manage to bring you along..." She trailed off, shrugging with eloquent nonchalance.

 

"No!" Obi-Wan cried. He gripped his saber, planting his feet more widely. "You won't touch him."

 

Leth gave him a cool glance. "How long do you think you could last in a fight, Padawan? You're weakened -- half-starved and thirsty, and you're terrified by the visions. I can feel your fear."

 

"Remember, Padawan," Qui-Gon said softly. "Not immutable." He leaned his head against Edrei's shoulder, closing his eyes, exhausted from the effort of speaking. Edrei rested her forehead against Qui-Gon's hair, still crying.

 

Obi-Wan hesitated. He was fearful, and Leth knew it. His fear might easily defeat him -- not the fear of capture, or the fear of torture -- those things could be ignored. The visions could not.

 

Qui-Gon had had visions as well -- but could they have had the same ring of truth Obi-Wan's had? And how, indeed, did Qui-Gon know that the visions would not come to pass?

 

"That's not the question, my love," Qui-Gon whispered. "The question --"

 

"The future," Obi-Wan said. He wanted to lie down and weep. He had seen such terror, such destruction, and in those horrifying visions he, himself, had played a part in their being. How, he could not tell. But there was certainty there, lurking in every corner of his dreams, the visions, far worse than being forced by the Senator.

 

He could not allow himself to fear, even if the visions were true. He took a breath, and slowed the unsteady pounding of his heart. He faced Leth calmly. "I'm not afraid, Mistress Leth. I will not allow you to harm me -- nor will I allow you to harm my master."

 

Leth shook her head. "You force my hand."

 

"So be it," Obi-Wan replied. He summoned the ragged shreds of his strength. Force help me, he thought. Help me; help Qui-Gon. He advanced slowly upon Leth, resolutely ignoring Qui-Gon for the moment. As he was about to leap forward, the pounding of feet and a shout from afar distracted his attention.

 

"Obi-Wan!"

 

The shout threw him off-balance, and he swung wildly, misjudging his aim and stumbling forward. Leth lashed out with one foot, catching him in the chest and slamming him against the wall. A sharp breath of air escaped him, and he crashed to the floor. The impact wrenched his saber from his hand, sending it clattering against the floor. Blast it, he thought, I'm too weak. I'm sorry, Master -- I'm sorry.

 

He lay on the floor, gasping for air, waiting for the death blow.

 

"Obi-Wan!"

 

Was he hallucinating again? "Garen?" he whispered. He heard Leth mutter something incomprehensible, then felt himself pulled to his feet. He focused, realizing that Leth had an arm locked around his windpipe, her saber to his throat. Idiot, he berated himself. He twisted and fought, but Leth held him still with the Force, tightening her grip around his neck.

 

"Hold still, Obi-Wan," she said. "Hold --"

 

In the darkness before them, a pale green saber flared to life, then a violet one.

 

"Obi-Wan!" The figure with the green saber stepped forward.

 

"Garen!" Obi-Wan cried. He sagged in relief -- help had come. He squinted into the darkness, making out two other robed and hooded figures.

 

One figure took a step toward them and lowered the concealing hood. Leth made her grip tighter still and stepped back a pace. "Adi," she whispered.

 

"Umak." Adi Gallia's voice was unsteady. "Umak!"

 

Obi-Wan was dragged closer to where Edrei still knelt crouched behind Qui-Gon. He was flung to the floor, and as he scrambled to sit up, the golden blade was at his throat again. He shrank against the wall, reaching out to touch Qui-Gon's limp hand. He felt Qui-Gon squeeze back, ever so slightly, and smiled.

 

Leth looked down at all three of them and smiled. Obi-Wan felt the Force shimmer, then heard Edrei's cry of dismay and terror. As he watched, her arm stretched out, and her fingers uncurled from about the dagger. The dagger hovered in the air a moment, then was dashed to the floor, a few meters away.

 

"No --" Edrei screamed, leaping to her feet, and then screamed again as Leth moved swiftly, plunging her saber into the girl's stomach and slashing down. Obi-Wan instinctively reached for Qui-Gon, pulling him away from Edrei's toppling body as it crashed to the floor.

 

Leth smiled without a trace of humor. "There's that. Two Thanach dead today."

 

Obi-Wan stared up at her in horror, cradling Qui-Gon, who appeared to have fainted, in his arms. He looked for some means of escape, but they were still held at bay by Leth's saber. Edrei's body lay between them and the other Jedi.

 

On the opposite side of the corridor lay his lightsaber. He looked at Umak, at Garen, who was tense, clearly spoiling for a duel, saber humming with deadly life. He looked at Adi Gallia, who appeared to be stunned. He squinted at the third figure, still concealed by darkness, unable to make out his or her features.

 

He looked again at his lightsaber, and closed his eyes, summoning his strength once more.

 

**********

 

Only by the most extraordinary effort was Maerin able to lift his head to see who had entered his cell. He managed a smile at the sight of Varden, who knelt beside him and brushed his hair from his face. "Varden," he murmured. "There you are."

 

"Ah, Maerin --" Varden pressed his forehead to Maerin's, his tears wetting Maerin's face.

 

Maerin brushed at Varden's tears with the back of his hand. "What is it? What's wrong?"

 

"Ceirn's dead."

 

Maerin was stunned. "Dead? How?"

 

"I'm not sure. I think Edrei killed him -- or maybe it was that friend of hers -- ah, gods, Maerin --" Varden hid his face in his hands, sobbing.

 

"Come here. Come here, Varden." Maerin stifled a groan as Varden embraced him clumsily, crying. "I'm sorry, Varden."

 

"He wasn't much more than a child, Maerin," Varden said. "Just a boy -- he was angry at me, but I think that I could have persuaded him eventually --"

 

"May his soul find peace," Maerin said, feeling a cold chill creeping up his spine. "I am sorry, Varden." He stroked Varden's hair with the back of his hand, letting Varden weep. He turned his head and saw Fian, shimmering ghostly blue in the dimness of the cell. He blinked, and she beckoned to him.

 

"Maerin." Her voice was perfectly audible, but Varden gave no indication that he'd heard her.

 

Maerin realized that Varden couldn't hear her -- only he could. He closed his eyes in resignation. "Just a moment," he whispered.

 

"A moment is all you have, my apprentice," Fian said, her face serene. "Don't squander it." Her image wavered and dissolved.

 

Maerin nodded, afraid, yet feeling himself growing calmer. "Varden," he said softly.

 

Varden seemed to rouse himself. He straightened, shaking his head. "Time enough for grieving later. I've sent some people after Edrei. The coup seems peaceful thus far, Maerin. I've got to get you out of here, into a proper bed."

 

"Varden -- I can't."

 

Varden offered Maerin a shaky grin. "Don't worry, I won't lift you by myself. I'll go and get some others to help me. There should be a contingent in the Hold by now." He grasped Maerin's hands, holding them tightly. "You should see them all, Maerin, they're -- what's this?" He frowned and looked down at their joined hands. Extricating one of his hands from Maerin's, he held it up toward the torchlight. Dark blood was smeared over his palm and fingers. He was still for an unbearable moment, then met Maerin's eyes. "Maerin?"

 

"I'm sorry, Varden," Maerin whispered.

 

Varden shook his head, his expression bewildered. "Maerin?"

 

"It reopened," Maerin said. "It couldn't be helped."

 

"But --"

 

"You did well," Maerin said, touching Varden's cloak. "I couldn't have done better myself."

 

Varden shook his head. "No!"

 

"I don't have time, Varden." Every word was an effort now, and his vision was fading. "You've done it -- you and Toran and the rest. We're free."

 

"That doesn't matter, Maerin -- you can't --"

 

"Shh." Maerin smiled. "You talk too much, Varden, always did. We're free, and you're here. What more...could I ask?" He closed his eyes and felt warm wetness on his cheek -- Varden's tears. He opened his eyes again. "Listen to me -- listen!" He grasped Varden's cloak with the last of his strength, and felt Varden's hands close around his. He felt as though he were floating, insubstantial. "Lead them -- not with duplicity...with honor."

 

Varden let out a low moan. "Maerin..."

 

"I'm not afraid. I love you." He closed his eyes.

 

"Maerin...love you..."

 

Varden's voice became soft, faraway. Maerin turned his head and saw Fian again, smiling at him.

 

"You've done well, my apprentice. You will never be far from him. Come with me now." She reached out a hand.

 

Maerin stretched out his own hand and took Fian's, which was soft and light, glowing like starfliers. He rose and looked back at Varden, at the bloody garments that remained clasped in his love's hands.

 

He would return. But now, there would be nothing to fear.

 

**********

 

Adi's instincts rarely failed her, and this was no exception. She'd led them through this confounded heap of rock with few false movements, guided by the Force toward what she sensed to be the presence of her missing comrades. Now, she stood at a stalemate. Across what seemed an impossibly wide expanse of corridor, Umak Leth was holding Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan hostage. Nearby, a dark-haired girl lay sprawled on the floor, unconscious or dead. Adi suspected dead.

 

Umak -- after all these years...

 

Umak's voice rang out, clear and sharp. "Stay back, Adi." Her posture betrayed nothing, but there was an odd spark in her eye.

 

"Umak," Tahl said, stepping out of the shadows. "Umak Leth."

 

"Knight Tahl," Umak said, inclining her head politely. "I understand you'd suffered a mishap. My condolences."

 

"Step away from Master Jinn, Umak," Adi said. "I will not ask you twice."

 

Umak smiled, then reached down and hauled Obi-Wan up by the collar of his tunic. She held the blade to his throat.

 

"Obi-Wan!" Garen cried.

 

"Be still, Padawan," Adi ordered. "Umak, let the boy go."

 

"Aren't you going to ask what's become of me all these years?" Umak asked.

 

Adi cocked a brow. "Should I?"

 

Umak scowled. "How easily you've forgotten me, my friend."

 

"I never forgot you," Adi said quietly. "Never." She heard a thumping, and voices. "The revolution has arrived," she observed. "What are you doing here, Umak?"

 

"Research. And yourself?"

 

Adi quirked her mouth. "Rescue."

 

"I see. I'm sorry, Adi -- I can't let you have these two. You're welcome to the corpse, though."

 

"Who is she?" Adi asked.

 

"The would-be sovereign of Pralderis," Umak said carelessly. "The price of greed, Adi -- and complacency. A lesson the Jedi would do well to learn."

 

Adi ignored that last. "What have you done to Master Jinn?"

 

"Nothing. He's suffering from some physical exertion --"

 

"Torture," Obi-Wan snapped, half-turning in Umak's grasp.

 

"Be silent, Padawan," Umak said sharply. She began to back down the hall, dragging Obi-Wan with her.

 

"This is a dead end," Obi-Wan said.

 

"Is it?" Umak smirked.

 

"You're abandoning Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan asked.

 

"I'll come back for him," Umak said with easy confidence. "If you want Padawan Kenobi dead, Adi, by all means step forward."

 

Adi sensed Garen's increasing agitation, and stretched out a warning hand. "Umak -- stop."

 

"I have things I need to retrieve, Adi. These two are forfeit -- they must fulfill their destiny. Leave now and enjoy the remaining years left to you."

 

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Adi scowled. She held her saber at the ready.

 

"This!" a voice called. Adi half-turned to see a dark-haired young man striding down the hall, a bunch of golden flowers in his hand, their roots dangling toward the ground.

 

"No," Umak whispered.

 

"It's not destiny," the young man said, walking deliberately toward Adi, ignoring her saber. "It's dreams, and no more. My brothers died for this." He paused, and his eyes found the body of the girl lying on the floor. "My sister died for it as well, I see. This --" He shook the flowers, sending clumps of dirt in a pattering shower. "This has caused too much ruin." He dropped the flowers and stepped on them, grinding them beneath his heel.

 

"No!" Umak cried. In that instant, Obi-Wan twisted from her grasp, calling his saber to his hand. Umak whirled, parrying his stroke and sending him flying into the wall with a well-aimed kick. Adi and Garen sprang forward, and Umak tore down the corridor.

 

"It's a dead end!" Obi-Wan shouted. "She'll be trapped!"

 

Umak stood at the end of the corridor, her back against the wall. She held her saber up as Adi, Garen, and Obi-Wan approached.

 

"Give up, Umak," Adi said. "Come back with us."

 

"Adi," Umak smiled. "You never change."

 

Adi did not reply. She looked at Umak steadily.

 

"You fought well, Padawan," Umak said to Obi-Wan. "But you can't escape your fate. My master has told me...remember that arrogance, Obi-Wan."

 

Before Adi could restrain Obi-Wan, he leapt forward. Umak struck at the floor with her saber in a circular motion and disappeared from sight. The Jedi surged forward, Obi-Wan in the lead.

 

"Wait!" Adi cried, restraining Obi-Wan with a hand, looking into the dark drainage well that had been covered by a crude metal grate.

 

"It leads to the sea," the young man gasped. "She'll drown."

 

Adi deactivated her saber. "I doubt it," she muttered. She grasped firmly at Obi-Wan's tunic. "Let it go, Padawan. You have a master to tend to."

 

Obi-Wan's eyes cleared, and he disengaged his saber, looking from Adi to Garen. "Garen -- Master Gallia --"

 

Garen embraced Obi-Wan fiercely. "Obi-Wan -- Obi-Wan! I knew you couldn't be dead -- I knew it --" His words were lost as he buried his face in Obi-Wan's shoulder.

 

"Garen..."

 

Adi observed them for a moment, then turned to the young man beside her, who was regarding her with an animosity that seemed unfounded, to say the least. "Who are you?"

 

"Master," Obi-Wan said, disentangling himself from Garen's embrace, "this is his Highness Varden Thanach. He --"

 

"Just Varden Thanach. I want you out of here," Varden said, "immediately."

 

"Varden --" Obi-Wan began, "there's so much you must know about. I can --"

 

"I don't care," the young man said tonelessly. "Go now. If you stay, I won't be responsible for what the crowd might do to you. Damn you, Jedi, and damn your Order."

 

Adi, at a loss for words, looked at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan bowed his head. "Very well -- we'll leave. Could I ask for medical supplies for my master? He's badly --"

 

"You'll get nothing," Varden hissed. "Nothing."

 

Obi-Wan hesitated, then nodded almost meekly and walked back to where Qui-Gon lay on the floor. He stopped at the sight of Tahl cradling him in her arms.

 

"Tahl," Adi said, "we're taking Qui-Gon back to the ship."

 

Tahl nodded and rose to her feet. She embraced Obi-Wan fervently. "You were brave, Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan's arms crept around Tahl. "We have to go now," he said, his voice slightly muffled.

 

Adi frowned, then looked down at the floor at the golden flowers Varden had dropped. On impulse, she picked one up and slipped it into her pocket.

 

The Jedi lifted Qui-Gon with great care and bore him away, following Varden, who walked before them, his back straight and unforgiving. They walked through the twisting halls, hearing the increasing noise of jubilant voices. They stopped in a large chamber, where a crowd had gathered, cheering and laughing. More people spilled into the room, their joy and optimism apparent. A blond-bearded man approached Varden and embraced him, then held him at a distance.

 

"Maerin?" the blond man asked.

 

Varden shook his head, and the blond man embraced Varden again.

 

Adi scowled, then looked to Obi-Wan, who bore the weight of Qui-Gon's head and right shoulder, for an explanation. "What's this about?" she asked quietly.

 

Obi-Wan looked sorrowful. "Later, Master."

 

Adi noddded. They were escorted from the Hold and marched outside through a raging storm to their ship, a large phalanx of individuals surrounding them. They boarded the ship, settling Qui-Gon into a bunk.

 

Qui-Gon opened his eyes, focusing with some difficulty. "Tahl."

 

"Yes, love," Tahl said quietly. "I'm here. Rest now."

 

Qui-Gon frowned. "Obi-Wan?"

 

"I'm here, Master," Obi-Wan said softly.

 

"Perhaps you'd better stay back here with him, Obi-Wan," Tahl said. "Once we reach hyperspace, we can give him medical treatment."

 

"And you can explain all this to me," Adi added sternly, to cover her relief -- not only at finding them alive, but also for not having to deal with a mob which seemed very eager to be rid of them.

 

Obi-Wan nodded wordlessly and sank to the floor beside Qui-Gon.

 

"Obi-Wan, are you --" Garen began.

 

"Come on, Padawan," Adi said. "Let's get out of here -- now. You can talk to Obi-Wan later. Duty first."

 

"Yes, Master." Garen led them to their seats and began to ignite the ship's engines. Moments later they had taken off, the storm far behind them as they shot into space. The blinding flash of stars tore past them as they made the rapid jump to hyperspace.

 

"Stay here," Adi ordered, rising to her feet. "You too, Tahl. I want to talk to Obi-Wan."

 

"Give him the medkit," Tahl said.

 

"I'll do it myself," Adi said. "Obi-Wan's exhausted." Frowning, she made her way back to the ship's single cabin. She paused at the closed door, then hit the button that opened the door.

 

Obi-Wan lay on the bunk beside his master, fast asleep, his hand curled around a long lock of Qui-Gon's hair. Qui-Gon's arm was wrapped about Obi-Wan's waist. Qui-Gon, too, was asleep, breathing shallowly.

 

Adi stood still for a moment, then backed out of the cabin, closing the door. She made her way back to the cockpit and sat down. The Force shimmered before her eyes, deep blue and purple.

 

Garen glanced at her. "Everything all right?"

 

Adi nodded. "They're sleeping. Just let them be for a while."

 

She folded her arms and looked out into the blackness of space.

 

**********

 

There was no other opportunity for Garen to spend time with Obi-Wan before he brought the Sellerian into the docking bay at the Jedi Temple; they encountered an unexpected ion storm and Garen had to focus his attention on flying. He resisted the impulse to execute any daredevil maneuvering, knowing Adi would disapprove. Still, as they dove through the thin cloudscape of Coruscant's lower atmosphere, he couldn't resist a high-speed roll or two, startling Tahl and his master. Adi's glance was amused, if stern; her mood had improved vastly from her earlier pensive silence.

 

"Mind your altitude," she instructed him, picking up her comm. "Dibann, this is Adi Gallia -- do you copy?"

 

A voice crackled over the comm. "Dibann here. That was fast. Were you successful?"

 

"We were. Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi are both in need of healers -- please arrange for us to be met. We'll need hoverstretchers."

 

"Is it bad?" The voice of the mission coordinator was concerned.

 

"Seems so," Adi replied succinctly. "Padawan Kenobi says Master Jinn was tortured. His vital signs are stable, but he's in a great deal of pain and I suspect he's lost a lot of blood. I think Padawan Kenobi's been tortured as well though he hasn't expressly said so." At Garen's worried glance, Adi patted his arm.

 

"You'll be met," Dibann said. "Anything else?"

 

"That's all. Gallia out." She snapped off the comm and sat back.

 

Tahl's voice drifted from the rear seat. "How does he look, Adi?"

 

"He looks as though he's going to need a few days in the bacta tank," Adi replied. "Slow down, Garen -- you're going to be hitting traffic soon."

 

"Yes, Master." Garen slowed his speed, knifing effortlessly into the traffic that wove complex patterns around the city-planet. Soon the Temple's docking bay was in clear sight and Garen brought the Sellerian into a smooth landing. Cutting off the high whine of the engines, he rapidly unbuckled his harness and headed for the cabin.

 

"Padawan!" Adi called.

 

Garen glanced back at her. "Yes, Master?"

 

Adi hesitated. "I think Qui-Gon has some broken bones. Be careful."

 

"Yes, Master." Garen opened the cabin door, seeing Obi-Wan kneeling on the floor next to Qui-Gon, his hand upon Qui-Gon's arm. Garen knelt next to Obi-Wan. "We're here."

 

Obi-Wan looked at him and smiled. "None too soon."

 

Garen shook his head and, reaching out, brushed his fingertips over Obi-Wan's reddish scruff of beard. "This makes you look older."

 

Obi-Wan snorted. "I think I've aged a few years."

 

Garen touched a purplish bruise on Obi-Wan's cheekbone. "What happened?"

 

"The mission wasn't what it appeared to be." Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon. "We were deceived."

 

"Master said you were tortured."

 

"It wasn't bad. Qui-Gon will need care."

 

Garen knew that taciturn stoicism all too well. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan, careful not to embrace him too tightly.

 

Obi-Wan stiffened, then relaxed into Garen's embrace. "It's all right, Garen."

 

"It is now," Garen laughed, brushing a tear from his eye.

 

There was a rustling from the doorway; Garen turned to see Adi and two Temple aides. "The healers are here, Garen. Come along."

 

Garen helped Obi-Wan to his feet, guiding him through the door. One of the aides gestured toward a hoverstretcher. "Please lie down, Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I can walk."

 

"Lie down, Padawan." Adi's voice was sharp, brooking no disobedience. Obi-Wan's chin was set in rebellion, but he made no further protest, climbing onto the stretcher and sighing as he closed his eyes. Garen took his hand as they disembarked from the ship.

 

Tahl was standing at the foot of the ramp, talking quietly to her guide droid. She turned her head alertly at Garen's approach. "Garen?" She'd removed the infrared visor; her faded green-gold eyes seemed to look through him.

 

"Yes -- how did you know?"

 

"You walk impatiently, as though you'd rather be running," Tahl said, smiling and taking his hand. She reached out with her other hand, touching Obi-Wan's tunic. Obi-Wan's eyes flew open and he reached out and grasped Tahl's hand with an odd expression. "Thank you for getting us there and back undamaged, Garen, and Obi-Wan --" she paused, grasping his hand more tightly, "thank you for keeping him safe."

 

Obi-Wan turned his head; the other aide and Adi were descending the ramp behind Qui-Gon's hoverstretcher. He did not let go of Tahl's hand. "I should have done more."

 

"I know you did everything in your power," Tahl reassured him. She released Obi-Wan's hand and went to Qui-Gon's side. Obi-Wan watched silently.

 

"He'll be all right," Garen said, clasping Obi-Wan's hand in his own as they left the hangar bay.

 

While Adi went to file a brief report, the others went immediately to the healing dome. Tahl followed Qui-Gon's stretcher into one healing chamber, Garen and Obi-Wan were led into another. Garen helped Obi-Wan to the bed while a young apprentice healer bustled about, readying the bacta tank.

 

Obi-Wan eyed the tank askance. "I don't need that."

 

The healer stopped in front of him with a scanner extended. "We'll see about that. Stand up." She scanned his body, scowling, then let out a low whistle. "Multiple bruises, lacerations, tearing --" She looked at him closely. "What happened to you?"

 

"It's been a trying few days," Obi-Wan replied impatiently. "I need a good meal and a hot bath -- that's all."

 

"The Council will want to know why you refused treatment," Garen said softly, placing a hand on Obi-Wan's arm. "Just go along with it, Obi-Wan."

 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to protest and then shut it, sighing. "All right." He stripped efficiently, tossing his garments to one side.

 

"What happened to your Jedi gear -- your robes?" Garen asked.

 

Obi-Wan, shivering a little, stepped toward the bacta tank. "They were taken from me."

 

Garen inspected Obi-Wan's face closely, seeing fatigue behind the carefully closed calm facade of Obi-Wan's demeanor. "Obi-Wan --"

 

"Garen -- I'm sorry. I'm just tired."

 

"Do you want me to let you alone?"

 

Obi-Wan hesitated. "You should sleep too."

 

"I'll wait until you're out." When Obi-Wan went to step inside the tank, Garen took hold of his arm and pulled him into a kiss, reveling in the feel of Obi-Wan's naked body against him. "I was afraid you were dead," he said quietly. Obi-Wan said nothing, but gently pushed a lock of hair from Garen's eyes. Garen smiled and kissed Obi-Wan again, then held him for as long as Obi-Wan would allow.

 

Presently, Garen felt the apprentice healer watching them with avid interest. "Seen enough?" he snapped.

 

The girl shrugged, her face deadpan. "Depends on how much you want to show me." She handed Obi-Wan the breathing mask, then helped him adjust the fit. "How does that feel?"

 

"Tight." Obi-Wan's voice was hollow, restricted by the mask.

 

"Well, we don't want you suffocating." She checked the mask and stepped back, satisfied. "If you'll just step in..."

 

Obi-Wan stepped into the tank and fitted the breathing apparatus to the tube that snaked from the top of the tank. The healer sealed the door shut after ensuring that the apparatus was properly attached. "All right. Just relax, Obi-Wan." Almost immediately, a translucent red gel began to seep into the tank from a portal near Obi-Wan's feet. He watched in obvious apprehension as the gel filled the tank rapidly, rising around his ankles, his knees, his thighs, encapsulating his body in thick slime.

 

"I'm sending the sedative through," the healer said. "Just breathe normally, please."

 

The red slime crept over Obi-Wan's chest and shoulders. He placed his hands on the thick transparent walls of the tank, his eyes beginning to glaze. As Garen watched, Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered shut and he sagged, sliding into the swiftly rising gel. As the gel filled the tank, Obi-Wan's body floated slowly upward, limp in his utter insensibility. Garen turned away, not liking the sight.

 

"Do you know what happened to him?" the young healer inquired.

 

Garen shook his head. "Not yet."

 

The healer seemed about to say something, then changed her mind. "It seems as though he's been badly beaten."

 

Garen nodded. "I gathered as much."

 

"I've got to monitor him. Excuse me." She sat and began to make notes on a datapad, checking the monitor beside her.

 

Garen watched for some time and then left, feeling curiously unsatisfied.

 

**********

 

The Council Chamber was empty save for one individual, a tall, dark-skinned man who stood looking out one of the windows that soared from floor to ceiling. He turned and nodded at Adi as she made her way across the stone floor.

 

"They are well?" he asked.

 

"They're both receiving treatment," Adi said. "It will take some time before Qui-Gon is entirely healed, but Obi-Wan should recover fairly quickly."

 

Mace sighed. "What happened?"

 

"I don't know yet," Adi replied. "Neither of them was in fit condition to tell me. I expect we'll find out soon enough. One thing -- the girl who sent us the recording is dead. When we arrived, there was a coup in progress. It seemed fairly bloodless, but who knows." She shrugged. "I'm sure their report will enlighten us."

 

Mace observed her keenly. "Something's troubling you."

 

Adi shook her head slowly. "Mace...I saw Umak."

 

Mace stared at her, stunned. "Umak -- not Umak Leth?"

 

"Yes. She was involved in some way. I don't --" Adi looked out the window at the early morning traffic. "I don't know how, or why --" She frowned, and reached into the pocket of her cloak, pulling out a golden flower. "She seemed interested in this."

 

Mace examined the flower. "I wonder why." He looked at it more closely, drawing back as it appeared to bend toward him. "Interesting." He folded his fingers over the stem. "May I take this to our botanists?"

 

"Do whatever you like," Adi said.

 

"Umak," Mace mused. He gazed out the window silently, then turned to Adi. "I'm sorry. It was a great loss"

 

"It's in the past," Adi replied. "She wasn't interested in returning to the Temple."

 

"Qui-Gon's report should be interesting," Mace sighed. "I'll speak to him later, if he's up to it. Now, Master Gallia, I wish you'd tell me what has you so distracted."

 

"I have recently become aware of a...situation, if you will."

 

"I see. Would you care to discuss it?" Mace asked.

 

"This has to do with the nature of the bond between master and padawan," Adi began.

 

"What of it?"

 

"It is a very special bond, of course."

 

"Of course." Mace acknowledged.

 

"And it can be a very close one," Adi said, shifting position slightly. "A padawan learner depends upon his or her master for instruction and guidance. And, if necessary, protection. It is a position of dependence."

 

"Mutual dependence, Adi," Mace corrected. "A master without a student is a being without purpose, not so? And in the process of teaching, the master learns as well."

 

"Mutual dependence, then," Adi conceded. "And trust."

 

"Certainly." All at once Mace felt as though he were being cross-examined.

 

"Suppose the bond between master and apprentice were to become something -- well, more."

 

Mace cleared his throat. "More...intimate, you mean?"

 

Adi nodded. "More intimate, yes. Very intimate."

 

"You are aware of what the Code says on this, Adi."

 

Adi gestured impatiently. "Of course I know the Code, Mace. What I want to know is what you, personally, would think if such a thing were to occur. Would you condemn it?"

 

Mace looked at her closely. Why was she pursuing this line of questioning? She knew the Code as well as he did. Was it Garen? Could she possibly have feelings for him? "It would be a difficult situation for those involved. If the feelings were initiated by the padawan -- the padawan is young and inexperienced and, as you say, dependent. And perhaps easily confused. One would have to ascertain whether the feelings were really what they seemed to be. If the feelings were initiated by the master, that is even more difficult. It could be seen as an abuse of authority and trust. Most likely the Council would see it as such."

 

Adi gazed at him intently. "But what if the feelings were discovered by both parties simultaneously?"

 

Mace shook his head, wanting to tread carefully. "I would then revert to the Code, Master Gallia. Each situation must be examined on a case-by-case basis. But as a matter of simple prudence, for either party to cross that boundary --"

 

"It has been crossed," Adi declared flatly.

 

Mace folded his hands within his sleeves. "I see. You don't seem happy about it."

 

"Certain parties will be wounded by this, Mace."

 

Mace sighed. "Speak plainly, Master Gallia."

 

Adi looked insulted. "Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan."

 

Mace scowled. "What?"

 

"Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan," she repeated. "They are lovers -- or if not yet, they soon will be."

 

Mace stared at her, bemused. "How do you know?"

 

"I saw," Adi replied dryly. "Garen and Tahl don't know yet."

 

"But they will find out."

 

"Of a certainty."

 

Mace peered at Adi with undisguised curiosity. "May I ask, Master Gallia, why you're telling me this?"

 

Adi sighed. "I don't want my padawan hurt, Mace, but this is going to hurt him. However...I think Garen has another destiny, one that does not include Obi-Wan."

 

"You sound very sure of yourself."

 

Adi shrugged. "I saw them together, Mace. They were...they appeared to be very close. Garen would be unhappy to hear me say that, I know." She sighed again. "He will be upset. But I saw...the truth can't be concealed, Mace."

 

"If what you say is true, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan may try to conceal their feelings -- publicly, at least."

 

"Perhaps. But if the matter comes up in Council, Mace, I ask that it be given serious consideration."

 

It was Mace's turn to look insulted. "It always is."

 

Adi ducked her head, smiling, chastened. "Forgive me, Master."

 

Mace lifted an eyebrow and strode toward the doors. "I'll take this to our botanists. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan appear to have had an eventful mission."

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon's boots echoed loudly as he marched through the hangar, looking neither left nor right. There was a distant hum of fighters preparing for takeoff, and he heard voices, the hustle and drone of a hastily assembled attack squadron. He spoke to no one, though, and continued on his way, stopping near the bay doors, surprised at the incongruity of a spring welling up from the durasteel floor.

 

Unaccountably pleased, he sank to his knees, dipping a hand in the clear, cold water, raising it to his lips. He drank thirstily, the water slaking a burning thirst he'd been unaware of until that moment.

 

He felt a gentle touch on his back. "Master."

 

He turned, and there, crouching beside him, was Obi-Wan -- older, bearded, his face careworn, the bright hair showing threads of pearly silver. No longer the fresh-faced apprentice, this man had a stern, nearly mournful dignity that only time and hardship could produce. When, how had that happened?

 

Obi-Wan reached up and touched Qui-Gon's face. "You haven't changed," Obi-Wan said, his eyes sad. "I have missed you."

 

"I never left you, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, baffled. He faced Obi-Wan and took him into his arms, glorying in the warm solidity of Obi-Wan's body. He kissed Obi-Wan, tasting the mouth that yielded to him with such willing ease.

 

After too short a time, Obi-Wan drew back, smiling. Despite the changes that time -- and how long has it been, Qui-Gon wondered -- had wrought upon Obi-Wan's countenance, the smile was still the same -- wide, joyful, vivacious, and lovely. Tears stood in Obi-Wan's eyes. "I've missed you."

 

"I've missed you as well." But it wasn't true -- he'd seen Obi-Wan only hours before, on the Sellerian. "Obi-Wan --"

 

"Hush," Obi-Wan said briefly, his eyes crinkling in some deep, secret amusement. He cupped his hand in the spring and raised it to Qui-Gon's lips. "Drink, Qui-Gon."

 

Qui-Gon drank, then pressed Obi-Wan's palm to his mouth, kissing it.

 

Obi-Wan caressed Qui-Gon's cheek. "We haven't much time, Master." The bay doors creaked open, and Obi-Wan glanced toward them. His eyes widened in alarm. "No," he whispered.

 

Qui-Gon saw a dark figure standing framed by the half-open door, but could not make out the figure's face. He felt a sense of foreboding, some unnameable danger. As one, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan rose, igniting their sabers, springing to readiness.

 

"Run, Master," Obi-Wan said. "I will not have this happen -- not again --"

 

The figure in the doorway -- unmistakably a male -- chuckled, the quiet, deep laugh a churning undertow beneath his placid exterior. He reached into his cloak. Qui-Gon tensed for an attack. The figure held out a theiris blossom.

 

"Come to me, my flower." His voice was dark and soft, the voice conspiratorial and carrying weight as though each word was a burden to be released with careful thought.

 

Obi-Wan leapt forward, and there was a flash of blue -- and then he dropped to the floor, his face contorted in agony. He reached toward Qui-Gon. "Master --"

 

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon, heedless of the figure, dropped to his knees and lifted Obi-Wan into his arms. "Padawan --"

 

"It's too late," Obi-Wan whispered. "It's too --"

 

"No!"

 

"Master," Obi-Wan said, then frowned. A thin trail of blood issued from his mouth, soaking his short beard. He stroked Qui-Gon's cheek, then frowned again, as though he needed to say something and had forgotten what it was.

 

Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan close, weeping. "Obi-Wan -- Obi-Wan --"

 

"Qui-Gon..." Obi-Wan was becoming fainter, his skin white, then almost translucent.

 

"No -- Obi-Wan!"

 

"Qui-Gon..."

 

"Obi-Wan!"

 

"Qui-Gon! Wake up! Healer M'klann!"

 

Qui-Gon awoke, his breath caught in his chest, his heart hammering madly. Tahl stood over him, her face creased with worry as she called for the healer.

 

"Tahl," he rasped. "Tahl, I'm all right."

 

"Force -- Qui-Gon, are you sure?" She grasped his hand in her two.

 

Qui-Gon took her hands and squeezed them lightly. "I'm all right. I am."

 

M'klann, an agemate and friend of Qui-Gon's, had rushed to their side. Seeing Qui-Gon conscious and seemingly in no pain, he gave his patient a cursory examination. "Bad dream?" he asked.

 

"I suppose," Qui-Gon lied. "I can't recall."

 

M'klann gave Qui-Gon a sharp look. "Well then. You seem fine, Qui-Gon. I'll stop by later. Don't stay too long, Tahl -- I don't want him exhausted." He left, his headtails twitching nervously.

 

"You had me in a panic -- screaming like that." Tahl brushed his hair back from his face. "You were calling for Obi-Wan."

 

"I can't remember," Qui-Gon said, glad she could not see the lie that was surely in his eyes. "How long have I been here?"

 

"A full day in the tank, and a day asleep," Tahl said. "How do you feel?"

 

"Tired," Qui-Gon admitted. He glanced around, searching. "Where is Obi-Wan?"

 

"He's resting as well. He's gone back to his quarters, though -- the healers determined that he was strong enough to rest there. I did stop in to see him yesterday."

 

"How did he seem to you?" Qui-Gon asked.

 

Tahl smiled. "He was only concerned for you, Qui-Gon. I think he's just fine. I expect you'll want to see him, and I'm sure he'll want to see you. I'll arrange for him to come here, if you like."

 

Qui-Gon frowned. "Has he been kept away?"

 

"The healers felt it would be better if you were undisturbed. They only allowed me to see you a few hours ago." Tahl kissed him on the mouth. "Apparently that dream you just had is nothing new. We'll have to see what we can do to banish them."

 

"I just need some time," Qui-Gon said, feeling distinctly uneasy.

 

Tahl shifted on the bed, embracing him. "Qui-Gon...whatever happened to you on Pralderis was quite bad, I know, and I am so sorry, my love. I could not see the damage, but I felt it, and the healers told me...I was so worried, Qui-Gon, but I knew -- I knew you couldn't be dead." She hugged Qui-Gon fiercely, kissing his neck, his collarbone.

 

Qui-Gon held her gently, stroking her back, smooth beneath the coarse cloth of her tunic. He closed his eyes against a sharp stab of guilt. I must hurt her, he thought. And she loves me.

 

He loved Tahl. But Tahl was not Obi-Wan.

 

She drew away, her eyes wet with tears, and Qui-Gon felt another pang of guilt. I cannot tell her now. When I must, I will, and I will be direct. But not now, not in this first moment of reunion.

 

Tahl frowned. "What's wrong, love?"

 

"A residual pain," Qui-Gon replied softly. "Tahl -- will you ask M'klann to send Obi-Wan to see me?"

 

"You're worried about him," Tahl said. "Of course I will, Qui-Gon. M'klann says that you should spend one more night in here before he releases you." She climbed off the bed and took his face in her hands, kissing him again, barely noticing that he could not quite return the kiss. "I'll send for Obi-Wan myself -- and I'll come to fetch you tomorrow."

 

"Thank you, Tahl."

 

Tahl frowned again, then caressed his cheek. "It will be all right, Qui-Gon. Whatever happened -- I hope you will let me help you." She turned and walked away, her guide droid trailing behind her. She reached out with one hand, turning off the light, swathing the room in a comforting darkness that made no difference to her. He watched as the door closed, then sank more deeply into the bed, closing his eyes.

 

It seemed as though only seconds had passed when he felt a touch on his arm.

 

"Master."

 

Qui-Gon opened his eyes and, through the room's dimness, beheld Obi-Wan. He opened his arms, and Obi-Wan burrowed into his embrace.

 

"Padawan." My love. Qui-Gon thought. My love.

 

**********

 

He had spent the last two days feeling as though he were wrapped in wet Utarian wool, cold, tired and alone despite the familiar warmth and comfort of his room and the soft soothing voice of the healer. Garen was undemanding, sitting beside him, his eyes joyful and shining with affection. How that had hurt -- as though Garen's happiness at Obi-Wan's return was undeserved. 

 

Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan had asked with as much patience as he could. When may I see Qui-Gon?

 

Soon. He's in a deep sleep.

 

Please, I --

 

Obi-Wan. The healer's voice was tranquil. You, of all people, know what your master has been through recently.

 

Yes.

 

I am listening, Padawan. Please talk to me.

 

He had told his story twice -- once to the healer, regarding her increasingly shocked face with calm detachment, then to a Council subcommittee -- Adi Gallia, Mace Windu, and Yoda. Adi and Mace had asked detailed questions about his tormentor, though their inquiries had been tinged with compassion. Yoda had been nearly silent.

 

Obi-Wan had gazed directly into Yoda's eyes. Must we repeat all this before the Council, Master?

 

Yoda had placed his dry, leathery hand atop Obi-Wan's and patted it, shaking his head slowly. Not necessary, young one. Rest and heal.

 

And Qui-Gon?

 

Rest and heal, Qui-Gon must. Speak more we will, but not until you both are well.

 

And that had had to suffice until a short time ago. Tahl had been escorted into the room by Garen. Seeing them, Obi-Wan had been assailed by guilt, but the moment had not been right for confession.

 

Tahl had taken his hand. Qui-Gon is anxious to see you, Obi-Wan.

 

Obi-Wan had fought to release his sudden jealousy. You've seen him?

 

Just now. He's asking for you. Are you well enough to walk?

 

Obi-Wan had all but leapt to his feet and sprinted through the halls, leaving a surprised Tahl and a bemused Garen. When he reached the healing dome, he had stared at Qui-Gon as he slept, his emotions almost overwhelming. When he could bear it no more, he spoke.

 

"Master."

 

Qui-Gon opened his eyes, focused...and then, without speaking, opened his arms and Obi-Wan fell into them.

 

"Padawan."

 

Had that title ever been spoken with such tender import? Obi-Wan thought not. He lay his head in the curve of Qui-Gon's neck, breathing in his master's scent with abandoned joy. He lay his hand on Qui-Gon's chest, marveling at the strength of that beating heart. Surely it had never been weak, irregular; surely Qui-Gon's body had not been bent and broken with pain.

 

Oh, if only that were so...

 

Qui-Gon touched Obi-Wan's cheek, then his chin with gentle fingertips, bringing Obi-Wan's face up to his. He kissed Obi-Wan, his hands caressing Obi-Wan's face, stroking his hair. Obi-Wan kissed Qui-Gon fiercely, filled with a wild, sweet jubilation, tears stinging his eyes.

 

Qui-Gon broke the kiss and held Obi-Wan at a slight distance. "I love you," he whispered.

 

Obi-Wan smiled. "Qui-Gon...Master...I love you."

 

Qui-Gon leaned forward, pressing his lips to Obi-Wan's forehead. Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon's broad frame. Such strength...

 

"We survived, Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice was muffled in Obi-Wan's hair.

 

Obi-Wan emitted a shaky laugh. "Barely."

 

"No," Qui-Gon said. "There are times, Padawan, when all I can do is admire you. You are brave, Obi-Wan."

 

"Arrogant," Obi-Wan said, feeling a chill tremor in his spine.

 

"Confident," Qui-Gon corrected him. "Headstrong. Brash. Reckless, sometimes, like your master. But above all, courageous. You would not have abandoned me, even if it meant your own life." "Never," Obi-Wan said, looking at Qui-Gon in astonishment. "Never, Master. I would lay down my life for you."

 

Qui-Gon frowned. "It won't come to that, Padawan -- I promise you." He held Obi-Wan tightly, his lips warm upon Obi-Wan's neck.

 

Obi-Wan felt himself stirring. "I spoke to Knight Fen-Shuel Alnan, the soulhealer," he said to distract himself.

 

"Did that ease your mind, my padawan?"

 

"Not much," Obi-Wan confessed. "But she listened to me. I couldn't tell her all of what I felt when --" He hesitated.

 

"You don't have to speak of it now, Obi-Wan, if you're not ready."

 

Obi-Wan shook his head, resting his cheek against Qui-Gon's chest. "I couldn't tell anyone but you, Master. And I must."

 

"Then tell me, Padawan." Qui-Gon's voice was measured, tender.

 

"I felt pain. Humiliation. Helplessness. Anger -- at myself, for not being able to fight him, and shame, at myself, and at...forgive me, Master...at you, for not being able to help me. I am sorry --"

 

"I am sorry, Obi-Wan."

 

Obi-Wan, remorseful, clasped Qui-Gon tighter. "Oh, Master, I knew that he had hurt you terribly. I am sorry -- forgive me, Master, I'm so sorry." He closed his eyes, feeling two hot, bitter tears trickling down his cheeks.

 

They were silent for a time. At length, Qui-Gon spoke. "Have we forgiven one another?"

 

Obi-Wan smiled. "Yes."

 

"Good. Now listen to me, Obi-Wan. I do not speak lightly when I say that you may have felt all that -- shame and helplessness and anger -- but you comported yourself with such undaunted valor. I was, and am, honored to be your teacher."

 

"I didn't feel valorous," Obi-Wan muttered.

 

"And yet you were -- spitting in your attacker's face." Obi-Wan heard the smile in Qui-Gon's voice. "I could have cheered." Qui-Gon became sober once again. "We will have to search for him."

 

"We already are," Obi-Wan said. "I gave Master Gallia the most accurate description I could."

 

"He'll be found."

 

"I hope so," Obi-Wan replied quietly. "Master -- the Thanach, the flower -- I think that Varden intended to destroy it, but what if some remains alive? The evil that could be perpetrated because of it --"

 

"If the new regime allows the Jedi back on Pralderis, and there are any left alive, we can study it. It is only a hallucinogen after all, my padawan."

 

Obi-Wan was silent.

 

"You don't agree," Qui-Gon said.

 

"Did you have visions, Master, under the flower's influence?"

 

Qui-Gon hesitated. "Yes," he admitted. "Terrible visions, Obi-Wan. Remember, though: they are not immutable."

 

"But what if the choices we make lead to --"

 

Qui-Gon placed a fingertip against Obi-Wan's lips. "Would you live in fear of the future, Padawan?"

 

"Caution," Obi-Wan argued.

 

"There's no way of knowing the certainty of the future, my love. You know this."

 

Obi-Wan, in his mind's eye, saw Qui-Gon sinking to his knees in agony, a gaping wound in his chest. He closed his eyes tightly, willing the horror to disappear. "Yes, Master."

 

"I do have one certainty about the future," Qui-Gon said nonchalantly.

 

Obi-Wan looked up at his master. "You do?"

 

Qui-Gon, smiling, leaned forward, capturing Obi-Wan's lips in a kiss, his hands reaching down to cup Obi-Wan's bottom. Obi-Wan let out a low gasp of surprise, laughing helplessly against Qui-Gon's mouth. "Who could have predicted this?" he mumbled.

 

"The mission was not entirely a failure," Qui-Gon replied, his tone arch.

 

"Indeed, no." Obi-Wan pressed Qui-Gon against the pillows, twining his hands through his master's loosened hair. "Not entirely." He lay full-length on top of Qui-Gon, kissing him, feeling his shaft hardening -- and Qui-Gon's, through the blankets. He rocked once against Qui-Gon's body, slowly, moaning a little, Qui-Gon's own muffled groan lost in his mouth.

 

"Please take me, Master," Obi-Wan whispered.

 

"It's too soon."

 

Obi-Wan laughed softly. "Bacta has amazing curative properties -- didn't you know that?"

 

Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan away from himself, studying Obi-Wan's face as if to ensure Obi-Wan spoke the truth. At last, he shook his head slowly. "You are a marvel."

 

Obi-Wan smiled, a slow smile full of hidden promises. He shifted and rocked against Qui-Gon again, moaning in need. "Now..." He rose, aching, and undressed, his eyes never leaving Qui-Gon as he peeled off his tunic and leggings.

 

Qui-Gon wasted no time in shoving aside the bedclothes and stripping.

 

Obi-Wan, with a backward glance over one shoulder, tilted another smile at Qui-Gon. "Stay there." He went into the 'fresher and rummaged through the drawers until he found a small jar of salve. He opened it and inhaled its clean fragrance, then took it back to where Qui-Gon waited, naked, thighs slightly spread, his organ hard and jutting. He bent and kissed Qui-Gon. "Master -- what do you want?"

 

"Touch yourself." Qui-Gon's voice was strained.

 

Obi-Wan climbed on the bed beside Qui-Gon and, smearing some of the salve on his fingertips, leaned back, spreading his legs and raising his knees in the air, and pushed inside himself, moving in and out, slicking himself with the salve. He stroked himself with his free hand, breathing quietly.

 

He lay there for several long moments, caressing himself, now and then touching his nipples with slippery fingers, his eyes fastened upon Qui-Gon, who watched him as he grasped his own hard length. At last Obi-Wan felt large hands closing about his ankles and pulling him forward. He arched in shock as Qui-Gon's mouth closed on one nipple, his tongue swirling around it, urging it into a stiff peak.

 

Qui-Gon guided Obi-Wan up, kissing him. Obi-Wan knelt between Qui-Gon's legs as they kissed, his hand stroking himself and Qui-Gon together. Qui-Gon groaned and grasped Obi-Wan's wrists, pinioning them, holding them as he delved deeply into Obi-Wan's mouth.

 

"Are you ready?" Qui-Gon asked hoarsely.

 

"Oh, yes -- please, Master, now, now --"

 

Qui-Gon released Obi-Wan's wrists and took hold of his hips, urging him up. Obi-Wan straddled Qui-Gon's hips, still kissing Qui-Gon, and let out a long, low cry as Qui-Gon sheathed himself inside in one smooth, sliding motion.

 

"How is that, Padawan?"

 

"Oh -- it's good, Master --"

 

Gently, Qui-Gon grasped Obi-Wan's organ, already slippery with salve. "Obi-Wan..."

 

"Master -- oh, Master -- it's good -- it's good, Master --"

 

"My padawan...Obi-Wan..."

 

Obi-Wan's thighs tightened, his hips rocking in time to Qui-Gon's slow thrusts. "Feels good...oh..."

 

"Love you...love you, Obi-Wan."

 

"Love you -- Master --" Obi-Wan's hands fastened on Qui-Gon's shoulders, a deep tremor building inside him. He rocked back and forth frantically, thrusting into Qui-Gon's hand, against the rampant hardness of Qui-Gon's organ. Tight, gasping cries borne on shuddering breaths emerged from his throat and, feeling the hot fluid from Qui-Gon's shaft bursting inside him, he climaxed violently, crying out, clawing at Qui-Gon's shoulders, blinded by a wash of pounding, ecstatic intensity.

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan came to himself slowly, his sweat-slick body pressed against Qui-Gon's. They were full-length on the bed, belly to belly, Qui-Gon's arms wrapped around him.

 

Qui-Gon felt him stir and drew him close, murmuring in his ear. "Padawan."

 

Obi-Wan felt limp, boneless. "Force," he croaked.

 

Qui-Gon let out a soft laugh. "Healing properties, you say?"

 

"Something like that," Obi-Wan affirmed, euphoric at the sensation of his master's naked body against his.

 

Qui-Gon's hand brushed his hip. "You might need some more bacta there. I think I left bruises."

 

"You ought to see to your shoulders," Obi-Wan grinned.

 

Qui-Gon laughed. "M'klann may wonder at that, but I doubt he'll say anything. He's very prudent."

 

"Speaking of which -- I should go," Obi-Wan said regretfully. "He'll be along, and I doubt he'll be happy to see me still here, much less naked and wrapped in your arms."

 

"I'm getting out of here tomorrow -- I don't care what he says," Qui-Gon declared.

 

"I'll collect you, if you like."

 

"Do that." Qui-Gon kissed Obi-Wan lingeringly, letting him go with the most obvious reluctance.

 

Obi-Wan dressed hastily and dropped a quick kiss on Qui-Gon's mouth, then kissed him again, slowly. "I love you." He stroked Qui-Gon's hair, a powerful surge of ardor and protectiveness washing over him. Qui-Gon was right -- the future was not immutable. It would not be, he thought fiercely.

 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon caressed Obi-Wan's cheek.

 

"Yes, Master." Boots in hand, Obi-Wan slipped silently from the healers' dome without waking M'klann, who snored softly in a chair, and ran through the halls to his own room.

 

Garen was sitting in a deep chair, reading. He looked up with a smile. "How's Master Qui-Gon?"

 

Obi-Wan's heart sank. He stepped forward, setting his boots on the floor, and knelt before Garen's chair. "Garen -- I must speak with you."

 

 

**********

 

Garen tilted back in his chair to get a better look at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was pale though his cheeks were slightly tinged with pink; his eyes were wide and serious. "What's the matter, Obi-Wan?"

 

"I have things I must say to you." Obi-Wan settled back on his heels and reached out, placing a hand on Garen's knee. "Garen...you've been my closest friend since childhood, and I love you dearly."

 

Garen stroked Obi-Wan's hand. "I love you too. Are you all right?"

 

Obi-Wan swallowed, blew out a breath, and nodded. "This isn't easy for me. I'm sorry."

 

"All right," Garen said softly. "All right, Obi-Wan -- don't worry."

 

"Pralderis was a difficult mission."

 

So that's it, Garen thought calmly. He's going to tell me what he endured there. He nodded, grasping Obi-Wan's hand a bit more tightly. "I'm sorry we didn't reach you sooner."

 

"I've never been so happy to see someone," Obi-Wan said, punctuating his words with a gentle squeeze to Garen's hand. "Garen -- there were things that happened on Pralderis that have altered the course of...well, simply put, things have changed."

 

"Everything's changed," Garen guessed. "You've been through so much." It was not an uncommon reaction, Garen had learned. Quite often he'd witnessed a profound change in Jedi who'd suffered a great deal on a mission -- whether it was mental or physical, anguish made no difference.

 

"Yes, but not -- Garen, it's about Qui-Gon and me -- our relationship." Obi-Wan was becoming visibly agitated.

 

"All right," Garen soothed him.

 

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath. "We've become lovers."

 

Garen stilled. "Lovers," he said finally.

 

"Yes." Obi-Wan gazed at him, his eyes clear and unflinching.

 

Garen sat back in his chair, slowly releasing Obi-Wan's hand. Obi-Wan glanced down but made no move to stop him.

 

"Lovers," Garen repeated. "You and Qui-Gon."

 

Obi-Wan rose to his feet. "Yes." He held Garen's gaze, almost daring him to look away.

 

"On Pralderis," Garen said.

 

"Yes."

 

"After you were tortured?"

 

Obi-Wan frowned. "No, before. Why do you ask that?"

 

"I don't know," Garen muttered. "You love him."

 

"I've always loved him," Obi-Wan replied simply.

 

With a sinking heart, Garen studied Obi-Wan's face, seeing the calm happiness in his eyes, knowing that happiness had little to do with himself. It was true that Obi-Wan loved Qui-Gon, and Garen had known it without Obi-Wan saying a single word. Though Obi-Wan had never been anything but calm and contained, his love for his master had been obvious -- to Garen if no one else, most particularly Qui-Gon, who had seemed cheerfully oblivious to his padawan's adoration. It had shone through Obi-Wan's every movement and gesture, but as he'd never made any mention of it, Garen had chosen to ignore it as well. But something had apparently happened to bring them together at last.

 

Garen had always known, try as he might to ignore it. That didn't, however, make any of this easier to hear. "So when did Qui-Gon decide to take notice of you?"

 

"Garen, that's not fair," Obi-Wan said quietly.

 

"It might not be fair, but it's true. How do you think I -- " Garen blew out a breath and leapt to his feet. He strode to a shelf that held mementos, collected objects -- interesting mineral formations, an unopened bottle of Shalai liquor, toxic to humans, a sketch that Adi, a talented artist, had made of Garen, a model starfighter he and Obi-Wan had built together when they were six. They'd done a terrible job; the wings hung rather haphazardly and the aft thrusters were decidedly on the fore-half of the fighter -- but they had been proud of their accomplishment nevertheless. There were holos, too -- mostly of himself and Obi-Wan and their friends, but there was one that drew his attention -- himself, Adi, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. It had been recorded two or three years ago. Adi and Garen were smiling into the recorder; Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were smiling at one another.

 

Garen stared at the holo as if seeing it for the first time, realizing that Obi-Wan had been the one to place it on the shelf. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised," he murmured.

 

"Garen," Obi-Wan pleaded, "we never made any promises to one another."

 

"No. Would that have helped? Didn't seem to help Qui-Gon, did it? Does Tahl know yet?"

 

Obi-Wan sat on a chair, the picture of wounded dignity. "I don't think so. Garen, please listen to me. I love you -- I do. You must know that."

 

Garen did, but at the moment didn't want to say so -- the ache in his chest was too painful. He remained silent.

 

Obi-Wan folded his hands, continuing to speak calmly. "There are different types of love, Garen --"

 

Garen whirled to face Obi-Wan. "Is this a lecture?"

 

Obi-Wan, taken aback, shook his head. "No. I was only --"

 

"Because I don't need lecturing, Obi-Wan, nor condolences. I don't need excuses, either."

 

"I wasn't making any," Obi-Wan returned firmly. "If you'd just --"

 

"Please," Garen said, holding up a hand, "Don't, Obi-Wan. I know what you've said is true, but you needn't be so --" He shook his head. "I don't know what I mean." He raked his hands through his hair. "He -- he won't make you happy, Obi-Wan, whatever you might think."

 

"Don't say that, Garen," Obi-Wan said, dismayed.

 

Garen strode to his chair and slipped his boots on. "I've got to walk, Obi-Wan. I know we have things to talk about --"

 

"Garen --"

 

"But I can't hear them -- not just now. I'm sorry." He went to the door and palmed it, looking back at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was gazing at him as if in regret. "Obi-Wan --"

 

Obi-Wan rose to his feet and started to cross the room.

 

Garen slipped out the door, all but running through the halls. He reached the lift, listening for the sound of Obi-Wan's familiar footfalls but not daring to look behind himself.

 

He bowed to the elderly master, a woman he knew slightly, as she pulled herself into the lift, leaning heavily on a cane. She smiled and said, "Old bones."

 

Garen returned the smile. "May the Force be with you, Master."

 

"And with you, Padawan."

 

Garen dashed down the hall, skidding to a stop at a door. He pressed the chime and rested his forehead on the door's cool metal surface.

 

The door slid open, and Garen headed straight for the garden observatory, where he knew his master would be sitting in contemplation.

 

She was standing with her arms folded, gazing at the artificial rainfall as it pattered off the green foliage. She did not turn to look at him.

 

"Master," Garen said. He felt tears in his throat.

 

"It rains frequently on Pralderis," Adi said. "I couldn't live in a place where it never stopped raining." She sank to the ground, folding her robe under herself. With a wave of her hand, she indicated that Garen should join her. He sat and remained silent; it had been difficult for Garen, naturally gregarious and talkative, brimming with laughter, to become used to a master who conveyed many lessons in the fewest words possible, but he had managed -- and had learned patience in the process.

 

After some time, Adi placed a gentle hand on his back. "He told you."

 

Garen nodded miserably, swiping at the tears in his eyes. Adi put her arm around Garen's shoulders and drew him close; Garen sniffled once, feeling undignified, and sighed, resting his head on Adi's shoulder.

 

"I hope he was kind to you," Adi said at length.

 

"I didn't give him much of a chance to be," Garen replied. He sighed again. "I knew all along, Master, but --"

 

"But that doesn't lessen the hurt," Adi finished. "Be still, my padawan. Meditate on this."

 

Garen closed his eyes and allowed the pain to tear through him. He visualized it rising from his body, borne away on a breeze. He sat in stillness for several long moments.

 

When he opened his eyes, the pain was as sharp as ever.

 

"Patience, Padawan," Adi said, her voice touched with amusement.

 

"Sorry, Master."

 

They sat quietly as the artificial daylight passed from the garden and darkness descended. Garen heard the faint, timid chirping of a tiny Ampha frog, then an answering chirp. Soon the air was rife with nighttime music, a chorus welcoming the darkness.

 

"The ambassador from Caelenth needs an escort back to his home planet," Adi said at length. "His pilot was killed in the attempt on his life."

 

"What sort of ship do they have?"

 

"It's a Hialcraft T-Class -- no bigger than a shuttlecraft, from what I've heard. You'd have to get public transport back to Coruscant."

 

"I see."

 

"Caelenth is on the Outer Rim," Adi went on. "They need a skilled pilot to return the ambassador, and to elude the Togorian fleet that makes its base on a neighboring moon. Are you up to the task?" There was nothing but brisk efficiency in her tone, for which Garen was grateful.

 

"Yes, Master."

 

"You'll leave first thing in the morning."

 

"Yes, Master."

 

"You've been Obi-Wan's friend for most of your lives, Garen," Adi said softly. "It would be a shame for the friendship to come to an end because he's no longer your lover."

 

"I know that, Master -- but I can't, not yet."

 

"Don't wait too long," Adi advised. She was quiet for a time, then said, "Jedi should not fall in love, Garen."

 

Was there a hint of bitterness in her voice? Garen looked at her quizzically, but her face was serene -- and closed.

 

"Master --"

 

"It's a mistake," Adi said, the peculiar tone still in her voice.

 

At the moment, Garen was inclined to agree with her.

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon was awakened by M'klann's voice, spoken in a sharp whisper. "A moment only, Padawan." There was a whispered assent, the sudden hissing rush of the closing door, and Qui-Gon, fumbling for the light, felt the touch of a familiar hand.

 

"Master."

 

Qui-Gon smiled as he located the light, and gathered Obi-Wan into his arms. "Padawan, what brings you -- what's the matter?" He studied Obi-Wan's disconsolate expression with concern.

 

Obi-Wan sighed. "I told Garen."

 

Qui-Gon's grasp tightened minutely. "I see."

 

"He was upset," Obi-Wan said. "I didn't want to hurt him, Master."

 

"Of course not," Qui-Gon said, resting his cheek on Obi-Wan's hair, inhaling Obi-Wan's clean male scent. He smiled at the thought of waking up enveloped in the fragrance of Obi-Wan, then his brow clouded. Not yet, he told himself. You haven't told Tahl.

 

Obi-Wan released a shaky laugh. "I may have to bunk in the creche tonight."

 

"You can sleep here."

 

"I don't think so. Healer M'klann is only allowing me to stay for a few moments."

 

"I'll talk to him," Qui-Gon said.

 

"No -- you need to rest. Master Svai will let me sleep in one of the private rooms in the creche."

 

"Little padawan," Qui-Gon teased gently, giving Obi-Wan a brief hug. Obi-Wan snorted ungracefully, then burst into laughter. "Shh," Qui-Gon cautioned. "M'klann will have you forcibly removed."

 

"He'll have to pry me away," Obi-Wan replied, smiling broadly. He drew Qui-Gon into a lingering kiss, his hands running luxuriantly through Qui-Gon's hair. Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan close, euphoric at the pleasure brought about simply by holding him.

 

Obi-Wan drew back reluctantly. "I should go."

 

"I wish you wouldn't," Qui-Gon said.

 

Obi-Wan smiled, clearly touched. "I really have to --" His next words were lost as Qui-Gon pulled him in for another kiss.

 

M'klann chose that moment to enter, startling them both. "All right, Padawan --" He stopped, surprised, then continued smoothly. "Qui-Gon needs to sleep. You can see him tomorrow."

 

Obi-Wan, blushing hotly, climbed off the bed. "Sleep well, Master."

 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Padawan," Qui-Gon returned, inclining his head with grave politeness, smiling as Obi-Wan exited hastily, leaving the door ajar.

 

M'klann lowered his slender form into the chair beside Qui-Gon's bed. "Trying to elevate your heart rate, Qui-Gon?"

 

Qui-Gon colored. "Thanks for announcing yourself, M'klann."

 

M'klann waved a dismissive hand. "I'll knock next time. You're obviously feeling better."

 

"I feel fine," Qui-Gon said. "I'd like to leave."

 

"One more night in here isn't going to kill you." M'klann was implacably calm.

 

"So you say." Qui-Gon stretched out on the bed, outwardly serene, inwardly disturbed. Why am I delaying this? he wondered. I must tell Tahl -- at once.

 

M'klann was watching him. "You've got that pensive look. Dangerous," he remarked.

 

Qui-Gon snorted. "Life's become complicated of late, M'klann."

 

"It certainly seems that way," M'klann observed dryly.

 

Qui-Gon offered M'klann a thin smile. "You disapprove."

 

The healer held up a slim, long-fingered hand. "Don't put words in my mouth," he said sharply.

 

"Sorry," Qui-Gon muttered.

 

M'klann sighed. "Jedi see enough hardship in their duties without imposing additional burdens upon themselves. What of Tahl?"

 

"I'll have to tell her," Qui-Gon murmured, examining a loosened tunic string. He still smelled Obi-Wan's scent in his nostrils.

 

They sat quietly for some time. At length M'klann asked, "Could you not come to some arrangement, the three of you?"

 

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Even if Tahl agreed --

 

which I very much doubt -- I could not nor, do I think, could Obi-Wan. I've fought my own feelings and intuition for a year, M'klann. I can't deceive myself any longer, nor can I deceive Tahl. Obi-Wan is my heart -- he's my life, M'klann."

 

"How will you tell her?"

 

"I prefer the direct approach," a feminine voice said.

 

Qui-Gon started, stunned to see Tahl standing in the doorway, her face ashen, her lips a taut, unsmiling line. "Tahl."

 

to be continued directly....

 

rom: Alex Date: Tue Apr 30, 2002 11:07 am Subject: FIC: Eminent Domain (23/23) Part 2 of 2

 

Continued directly from Part 1

 

**********

 

Tahl's unseeing eyes bored through Qui-Gon. "M'klann, will you leave us, please?"

 

M'klann rose and made a hasty exit, murmuring, "Later, then, perhaps, Qui-Gon."

 

"Yes," Qui-Gon replied numbly, watching the door slide shut behind the healer.

 

Tahl made her way toward the chair the healer had vacated and sat, folding her hands in her lap. "Well. I encountered your padawan as I was coming here, Qui-Gon. He sounded a bit uncomfortable to me -- at least I know why now."

 

"Tahl," Qui-Gon said, "I did not mean for you to find out this way."

 

"No, I'm sure you didn't. Nevertheless --" Tahl shrugged coldly.

 

Qui-Gon rose from the bed and took a step toward her.

 

"Don't touch me, please."

 

He sat again. "Tahl, please -- listen to me. I did not want to hurt you -- I wouldn't have dreamed of hurting you. But I can't live this charade any --"

 

"A charade," Tahl breathed. "Is that what the past five years has been -- a charade?"

 

"Forgive me -- I didn't mean it that way. The past year, Tahl -- I've been in love with Obi-Wan for a year."

 

"A year," Tahl said flatly. "Your apprentice. And how long have you been unfaithful to me? A year? Two, until you decided it was Obi-Wan you wanted? Three, perhaps? Or was it --"

 

"Stop it," Qui-Gon said. "Stop, Tahl. Obi-Wan and I made love for the first time on Pralderis."

 

"How romantic."

 

He winced at the bitterness in her tone. He said, as gently as he could, "Would it have eased your mind, Tahl, if I had terminated our relationship before Obi-Wan and I joined?"

 

Tahl's expression was incredulous. "How dare you -- tell me, would it have eased your conscience, Qui-Gon? What difference does a year make?"

 

"Tahl, I didn't want to hurt you. I still love you."

 

"Not as much, apparently, as you love your apprentice. Your apprentice, Qui-Gon. You've raised him from childhood."

 

"Obi-Wan is a grown man." Qui-Gon's voice was like a whipcrack.

 

"Recently."

 

"Not at all." Qui-Gon rubbed his temples, suddenly exhausted. His eyes were hot, his throat dry and swollen. "Tahl, I do love you. We've been close since childhood. I can't simply throw away the past."

 

"But that's exactly what you are doing." Tahl lowered her head, and Qui-Gon wondered if she was crying. When she raised her head, her eyes were dry. She rose from the chair. "I can't discuss this any longer, Qui-Gon."

 

"I've hardly said anything to you, Tahl. I have to explain --"

 

"What more is there to say? You're sleeping with your apprentice, and I don't hold your interest any longer."

 

"It's not that simple."

 

"Why not? It seems fairly simple to me. I'm going back to our quarters. I'll have my things out by morning. It'll be ready for Obi-Wan to move in. I assume he's told Garen."

 

"Yes," Qui-Gon said.

 

"That was courageous of him. Good-bye, Qui-Gon." She fumbled for the door button and walked out, her steps sure and purposeful. Qui-Gon heard her speaking to M'klann, their voices fading away.

 

Qui-Gon sat silently for some time, his hands fisted in the bedsheets, his mind whirling. Was there ever a gentle way to hurt someone, he wondered. He doubted it.

 

He rose without thinking, slipping through the door. M'klann was gone; he had probably escorted Tahl back to their quarters. Suppressing a sigh, Qui-Gon left the healing dome, silent in bare feet, and padded noiselessly through the corridors. He crossed the walkway that led to the creche and nodded a greeting at the apprentice proctor, who held a sleeping infant in his arms. "Good evening, Padawan. Can you tell me if Obi-Wan Kenobi is here?"

 

The padawan shifted the infant in his arms and pointed down the hall. "Last door on the left, Master. I told him to spend the night if he wanted."

 

"Thank you." Qui-Gon paused and examined the infant, touching its silken cheek with a fingertip. The baby stirred and yawned, then promptly fell asleep again. Qui-Gon and the apprentice traded a quick smile, and Qui-Gon headed down the hall, pausing at the door.

 

Our lives will never be the same again, Qui-Gon thought. What have we done?

 

The door slid open, and Qui-Gon looked down at his sleeping apprentice -- his love.

 

Obi-Wan had taken the mattress from the bed and placed it on the floor. The mattress was short, and Obi-Wan's feet hung over the end, his toes emerging from beneath the blankets. He stirred and sat up, shading his eyes from the light in the hall. "Who's that?"

 

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon stepped into the room, and the door closed, shrouding them both in darkness.

 

"Master -- come here, I can't see you." As Qui-Gon sank to the mattress, Obi-Wan embraced him, kissing his ear. "Are you unwell?"

 

Qui-Gon's arms stole around Obi-Wan. "Tahl knows now."

 

Obi-Wan was silent, resting his head on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "It went badly," he said at last.

 

"Very badly," Qui-Gon affirmed.

 

"I'm sorry, Master."

 

"I'm sorry she's hurt -- and that Garen is hurt," Qui-Gon said. "But I am not sorry I have you, Padawan. It was meant to be -- I can feel it."

 

"I feel it also, Master." Obi-Wan sounded awed. "I think we all need time to...to become accustomed to these changes."

 

"Yes," Qui-Gon said softly. He found Obi-Wan's lips and kissed them, remembering the dream he'd had earlier. He dismissed it. Obi-Wan was here, the time was now, and each moment must be felt intensely, without worrying about what someday might -- or might not -- be.

 

"I love you," Obi-Wan whispered.

 

"And I love you." Qui-Gon gripped Obi-Wan tightly. My life, my love, he thought, no matter what may be. "May I sleep here with you?"

 

Obi-Wan laughed quietly. "You need not even ask, Master. The mattress is half your size, though."

 

Qui-Gon slid down beside Obi-Wan and spooned up behind him, once again inhaling his clean maleness. He drifted into a comfortable and blissful sleep, one without dreams.

 

**********

 

Varden dropped his stylus and squinted at the timepiece on a side table. "It's well past midnight. I suggest we adjourn until tomorrow."

 

Varden and Toran's companions nodded and prepared to take their leave.

 

Toran Thanach clapped the grizzled, stocky man on the back and nodded respectfully toward the lean woman at his side. "Aelred, Bronna -- I can't thank you enough for your patience."

 

The woman smiled. "You've gotten an education today, I think."

 

"You may rely upon that. I'll see you both tomorrow."

 

The man and woman left after bidding Varden farewell.

 

"There's that done," Toran sighed, pushing the last in a tall stack of bills toward Varden. "I never wanted to be a farmer, you know."

 

Varden smiled, pushing his hair from his eyes. "Assistant Minister of Agriculture," he corrected. "And why not? I can't think of anything more exciting than discussing drainage problems in the Lowlands. Actually," he paused thoughtfully, "it's more interesting than I thought it would be."

 

"You did seem involved."

 

Varden shrugged. "I have to do something." Suddenly aware of how bitter that sounded, he glanced up, noting Toran's silent, concerned appraisal. "I'm fine," he said. "I think I need to eat."

 

"I was just thinking that. There's a cold joint left over from midmeal, and some bread, I believe. Can I bring you some?"

 

"No," Varden said. "I'll be along shortly -- I have a few things to finish here."

 

Toran paused, then nodded. "Don't be too long." He left, his footfalls echoing through the silent stone corridor.

 

Varden sat back in his chair, propping his feet on the table. He closed his eyes, letting the tiredness drain from him. He was lucky, he reflected, to have been so busy these past weeks. The work kept him from brooding overmuch. At night he was often too tired to do more than collapse into bed, falling at once into heavy, dreamless sleep. That, at least, was a blessing.

 

He opened his eyes and glanced about the room. It was quiet, the fire flickering pleasantly off the stone walls, dappling the deep-hued tapestries with a soft light. After the coup, he'd deliberately chosen this room in the Hold as an office; he and Maerin had shared their first encounter here, clumsy and scared and half-frantic with need. Right on the rug before the fireplace, in fact...

 

He rose and stood before the fire, letting it warm him. He looked down at the rug. They'd spilled ale on it; he couldn't see the stain.

 

"Maerin," he whispered.

 

"Varden..." The answering whisper was soft, almost inaudible.

 

His head jerked up. "Maerin?"

 

All was silent; no one had spoken. Varden rubbed at his eyes, at the stinging there. I'm becoming delusional, he thought. He smiled bitterly. What a public servant I'll make.

 

A slight touch, like a warm breeze, drifted over his cheeks, his lips, and he felt a warmth without weight encircling him. He started, and the sensation disappeared. He turned, but there was no one there. The room was empty; the firelight cast ghost-shadows on the walls, shadows that looked like --

 

"Maerin."

 

Varden...

 

The voice was in his head, and yet --

 

He watched the firelight on the walls, seeing the brief silhouette of a human figure. He should have been frightened, or alarmed, but he felt only a warmth, a soothing glow illuminating his aching heart.

 

When you need me...

 

A tear spilled down Varden's cheek, and he touched his lips, still feeling the softness that had passed over them. He sank to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself, weeping silently. "Maerin..." As he wept, he felt the warmth surrounding him again, and he smiled through his tears.

 

I am here. I will always be near you.

 

Time passed, and at last Varden wiped his eyes and rose to his feet. He moved to the door, turning to take a last look at the wall, at the dancing shadows upon the stone and heavy tapestries. It had only been an ordinary fire, an empty room, a dusty trove of memories --

 

Varden smiled once more, letting the truth flood in. He raised a hand, turned, and left, heading for the kitchens.

 

As he made his way through the winding corridors of the Hold, he could have sworn that someone was walking beside him, radiating love and light.

 

**********

 

Qui-Gon stared at Jocasta Nu in annoyance. "Nothing."

 

The senior archivist met him glance for glance. "Do you think I'm lying to you, Master Jinn?"

 

Qui-Gon blew out a breath and exchanged a look with Obi-Wan, who was pale and silent. Mace Windu, Adi Gallia, and Yoda all regarded the archivist solemnly.

 

"You are certain?" Mace inquired.

 

Jocasta tapped a fingernail against the monitor. "Based on Master Jinn's and Padawan Kenobi's description, we've fed every possible permutation of identity into the archives. There is no Senator matching that description."

 

"That just can't be," Qui-Gon argued. "I've seen the man before."

 

The archivist sighed. "A name, Master Jinn -- something, anything to help me."

 

"I never learned his name. Umak addressed him as 'Master'..."

 

The Jedi were silent.

 

"A madman, with a mad scheme," Mace declared.

 

"I don't think so," Obi-Wan said quietly. He looked at Yoda for a long moment.

 

Yoda sighed, bowing his head. "Continue the search, we must."

 

"And what of the theiris?" Qui-Gon asked.

 

Mace looked solemn. "It's in safekeeping."

 

"Is it still alive?" Obi-Wan inquired.

 

"Yes," Mace replied. "We are studying it."

 

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged a long look. Obi-Wan seemed about to speak, but Qui-Gon shook his head in caution. "Very well," Qui-Gon said. 

 

"We'll let you know of our findings," Mace assured him.

 

Qui-Gon nodded.

 

"You'll miss your transport, Qui-Gon," Adi said quietly.

 

Qui-Gon rose to his feet. "Please collect our things, Padawan. I'll see you on board."

 

Obi-Wan gave a short bow of acquiescence, and left the archive with a doubtful backward glance at Jocasta, who sat in quiet conference with Mace and Yoda.

 

Adi walked beside Qui-Gon. "How is your padawan?"

 

"Healing," Qui-Gon said. "Pralderis took more from us than we can easily replace."

 

"I wonder if this new mission is a good idea."

 

"It's exactly what we both need," Qui-Gon said. "I have every confidence in him." He paused. "I must admit I was surprised to receive no censure from the Council."

 

Adi smiled. "Because of your relationship with Obi-Wan? We don't always seek to stifle you, Qui-Gon."

 

"Not always," Qui-Gon replied dryly. "Most of the time."

 

"Now, now, Qui-Gon..." Adi chided him. They continued in a companionable silence. As they neared the transport, she stopped and rested a hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

 

Qui-Gon folded his hands in his sleeves. "I'm fine. I want that man found."

 

"We will continue to search, Qui-Gon. You know that."

 

Qui-Gon inclined his head. "Adi...have you heard from her?"

 

Adi smiled. "Apparently Shalai is a contemplative paradise. The Temple scholars there are glad for her assistance."

 

"Has she mentioned me?"

 

"Yes."

 

Qui-Gon's lips tilted in a half-smile. "Anything you'd care to confide in me?"

 

"No. I will say this, Qui-Gon -- give her time. It was not an easy thing for her to accept."

 

"Garen seems to be adjusting. He sent Obi-Wan a farewell holodisc."

 

Adi let out a rare laugh. "Unlike us, Garen is young. The hearts of youth are remarkably resilient. Tahl will be fine eventually -- just give her time, Qui-Gon."

 

The signal for the transport resounded throughout the bay, and Qui-Gon embraced Adi. "May the Force be with you, Master Gallia."

 

"And with you, Master Jinn." She watched, lifting a hand in farewell as Qui-Gon boarded the transport.

 

Qui-Gon returned the salute, then strode through the ship's corridors to find Obi-Wan.

 

**********

 

Umak stood before the smooth, shining durasteel door, reflecting upon the irony of having healed herself in preparation for her death. She'd emerged from the tank only hours before, her battered and broken body -- damaged from the jagged rocks surrounding Thanach Isle -- repaired by the bacta. She'd spent the past several days in agony, drawing on the last reserves of her strength and the Force to drag herself aboard a transport, killing the pilot and diverting the ship to Coruscant. Pale and barely conscious, she'd managed to get to her laboratory, where Karet had helped her into one of the tanks to float for hours in healing oblivion.

 

Now she waited for admission to her master's inner sanctum, where her fate would be decided. She knew what it would be; she'd failed her mission, and her master was not a man inclined toward mercy. She was prepared for death, unafraid.

 

The door slid open, and she entered her master's chamber, her back straight, her head erect, her lightsaber at her side. She sank to her knees before her master, gazing at the featureless durasteel floor.

 

"Some things are not forgotten." Her master's voice was soft.

 

"My Lord?"

 

"The way you carry yourself, Umak -- just like a Jedi. I wonder -- will you ever shed the last remnants of your training?"

 

"I doubt it, my Lord."

 

"You are as arrogant as ever. Much as your former comrades are."

 

"As you say, my Lord."

 

"Indeed." He tapped a finger against his chair and regarded her calmly. "You have failed me, Leth."

 

"Yes, my Lord."

 

"You have failed to bring young Kenobi to me."

 

"Yes, my Lord."

 

"You have failed to sustain the theiris."

 

"Yes, my Lord."

 

"Pralderis is no longer ours."

 

"Yes, my Lord." She couldn't see how losing Pralderis had been her fault, but didn't bother to refute him.

 

"I wonder, Umak, why I bother keeping you alive. You've disappointed me at every turn."

 

Umak raised her head and met his gaze. What an ordinary man he appeared to be. "I am prepared to accept the consequences of my actions, my Lord."

 

He smiled without mirth. "Perhaps that's why. Was it difficult to see your old friends, Umak?"

 

Did he mock her? She did not respond, thinking of young Obi-Wan, of Master Jinn, and their boundless courage, and the tenderness that graced their existence. She thought of Tahl, who had been a mentor, and of Adi, who had once been everything to her. She thought of the life she'd abandoned, and the life she led now. Her path was clear; she needed no theiris to see that. Her choices had and would determine the course of her existence.

 

"I am your servant, my Lord."

 

"I have a new commission for you."

 

Umak kept her gaze steady. "Yes, my Lord?"

 

"We'll need the help of BioTech. Genetic replication, Umak."

 

"Cloning." It was hardly a novel concept.

 

Her master nodded. "I am unwilling to relinquish my attachment to Coruscant, Leth." He touched his face. "I'll have to make some changes. You'll help me."

 

"In whatever way I can, my Lord."

 

The Senator withdrew a theiris blossom from his cloak; it was smaller, less impressive than the blossoms on Pralderis. "It still lives."

 

"Not for long, my Lord."

 

"It's enough." He turned in his chair, looking out at the vast panorama of the Coruscant nightscape.

 

Umak watched silently, still on her knees.

 

The Senator spoke, his voice quietly resonant in the darkened room. "It's time to embrace our destiny."

 

**********

 

Obi-Wan lazily twined his fingers through Qui-Gon's hair, then wrapped a length of it around his hand.

 

Qui-Gon fondled Obi-Wan's bare hip. "What are you doing?"

 

Obi-Wan laughed. "I've always wanted to do that, Master. Indulge me."

 

"I find it increasingly impossible to deny you anything. It's shocking."

 

"Good," Obi-Wan laughed. "Kiss me." He slid atop Qui-Gon's body, still sweat-slick from their lovemaking, and kissed his master thoroughly. He pulled back, his eyes alight, dancing with mischief. "Ready for more? I've never made love on a transport. It's amazing -- must be the hyperdrive."

 

Qui-Gon laughed, then rolled over, trapping Obi-Wan beneath him. "The question, Padawan, is -- are you ready?" He lunged, nibbling at Obi-Wan's clavicle. Obi-Wan laughed helplessly, writhing in delighted abandon at the sensation of Qui-Gon's weight atop him, his mouth driving him to utter distraction, his beard tickling Obi-Wan's skin.

 

The door chime rang softly.

 

"Don't answer it," Obi-Wan muttered, winding his legs around Qui-Gon's hips.

 

Qui-Gon let out a muffled grunt as he tried to escape the vise of Obi-Wan's legs. "Padawan -- Padawan, stop it. We can't be rude."

 

Sighing theatrically, Obi-Wan released Qui-Gon and dove beneath the covers to preserve a tattered shred of modesty, watching Qui-Gon as he slipped on his outer robe and padded barefoot to the door.

 

Qui-Gon greeted the steward politely, nodding his thanks as he accepted a small box. The steward murmured something, and Qui-Gon sighed softly, searching in his pockets, finally withdrawing his credit chip. He slipped it into the steward's reader and nodded a resigned farewell.

 

Obi-Wan grinned. "Can't get away with no tip, Master."

 

"Apparently not." Qui-Gon handed the box to Obi-Wan. "For you."

 

Obi-Wan smiled, turning it over in his hands. "Who sent it?"

 

Qui-Gon stripped off his robe and climbed into bed beside Obi-Wan. "I've no idea. The young lady said that it was delivered for you shortly before we departed, but this is the first opportunity they've had to deliver it. It's been two full days since we've departed."

 

"So much for efficiency," Obi-Wan observed, removing the silken wrapping and putting aside the lid. "I wonder who --" He froze.

 

Within the box lay a single theiris blossom. A note was folded beneath. With suddenly unsteady fingers, Obi-Wan reached in and, without touching the flower, withdrew the note. He unfolded it and read its dark, neat script.

 

We will meet again, my flower.

 

There was a pounding in his ears, like the sound of the sea on Pralderis.

 

My flower.

 

Qui-Gon took the note and re-folded it, placing it atop the flower. He placed the lid on the box and, rising, deposited the box and its wrappings into the waste receptacle. He returned to the bed and wrapped his arms tightly around Obi-Wan, who had become very cold.

 

"No, Padawan," Qui-Gon whispered. "No more."

 

Obi-Wan turned, folding himself into Qui-Gon's embrace.

 

End.


End file.
